


Arms Unfolding

by zuniha



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 80s AU, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arujean, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jearmin - Freeform, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Sided Reibert, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2019-10-13 12:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17488346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuniha/pseuds/zuniha
Summary: Jean and Armin were best friends growing up, talking of nothing but escaping their small town and exploring the world together. Four years have passed since Armin left for college, and he is finally coming home for reasons he doesn't really understand himself. Jean made plans to leave long ago, but life got in the way. [80s AU]





	1. Home Again

If Armin had thought their house was big before, it seemed huge now. He’d left his bags right by the door, to be unpacked in the morning. It was late - the sun had long since set, and Armin was exhausted from the ten-hour bus ride, which had been as boring as it was uncomfortable. 

Four years of college had gone by since he had last stepped foot in this old house - hell, even in this town, his hometown. Before he left for college, Armin had lived in this town his whole life. He supposed his parents had wanted to finally settle down and give him a normal childhood, in a normal town. When he got his college scholarship, his parents moved away to travel again as they used to before Armin was born. He’d meet them at Christmas time and summer sometimes, but he'd mostly stay at college over his breaks.

What felt like a lifetime had passed since his days here in town. He’d spent his teenage years swearing to leave and never return. But here he was, back for reasons he didn’t really understand. 

He wandered around the house slowly, taking it all in. Old photos covered in dust, the way the carpet felt under his shoes; it was all so hauntingly familiar, and he didn’t know how to feel. There was still firewood by the log burner in the centre of the living room. The stairs still creaked in the same way they always had when he walked up them. It was overwhelming. It all was. Everything was perfectly in place, exactly the way it had been. It was almost taunting in its reminder to Armin of just how much he had changed, and it made him feel ill.

Armin hadn’t told anyone he was coming back. He knew that was why he felt so sick. But what was he supposed to do? Write a letter? He didn’t know where anyone was these days. And it would just be odd, especially after not having done so for over two years. 

_ Nope. Don’t think about it,  _ Armin told himself sternly. He could just refuse to acknowledge it.  _ Everyone’s probably moved away.  _

_ Jean would have definitely moved away. Yeah. Definitely. _

*

“Not having a drink to celebrate?” Reiner asked. 

“Nah, I’m good. Working again tomorrow.” Jean threw aside the cloth he was using to wipe down the bar and sat down on the stool next to Reiner. It was almost 3 A.M., and Jean had just finished cleaning the bar after a brutally long shift. Reiner had kept him company for the latter half of it, claiming it was too boring in their house alone, which Jean was grateful for. It was a Friday night and having some sober company made the regular drunkards at least a little more tolerable.

Reiner shrugged and leaned over the bar to pour himself a beer, spilling a generous amount in the process. “Fine by me.”

“I just cleaned that.”

“I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” he said, getting up. "But anyway -  a whole year here, eh? Feels like just yesterday you came in, a little baby-faced 21-year-old, looking all bewildered-”

“Fuck off Rein,” Jean laughed. “You sound like my mom.”

“Now look at you, all grown up,” Reiner continued, pinching Jean’s cheek and making kissy faces at him.

“You’re hilarious, really,” Jean said, swatting his hand away. “Just hurry up and finish your damn beer, I want to go home.”

“Same shift tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Jean said. “You?”

“I’m on until 1,” Reiner said, finishing the last of his drink and brushing off his jeans. “Least we’ll be on together.”

“Is Connie working?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Shame. Anyway, you ready?”

“Yep. Let’s go.”

Summer was just around the corner but the night air was still freezing. Jean didn’t bring his coat to work so walked with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched over in a vain attempt to keep warm.

It wasn’t far back to the house they shared. The roads were quiet and empty at this hour of the night. Jean could walk this whole town with his eyes closed, he knew it so well. This was the same route home he had been going for precisely a year, in the town he had been living in his whole life. There were memories everywhere, some of which were painful to think about. But there was no use in dwelling on the past. Jean shook his head and turned his attention instead to the ground, watching his feet. He preferred to walk, even in the cold. Not that he had a car anyway. 

“What’s up?” Reiner asked. Jean was more quiet than usual.

“Fucking cold,” Jean said, shivering a bit, “let’s walk faster.”

“Good idea.” A moment passed awkwardly where they both tried to think of something to say.

“Seen anything good on TV?” Jean asked eventually, wanting to say anything to fill the silence. Jean always felt awkward when there was no conversation. 

“Apart from football? Nothing,” Reiner said. He was into football and had tried to involve Jean in it, but Jean preferred to actually  _ do  _ sports than watch someone else do them on TV. “Though I’d kill to go see a movie sometime. Been ages.”

“I’d be up for that,” Jean said.

“Great.”

When they got back, Reiner went straight to bed, but Jean stayed up for a little while longer. He rifled around the fridge for leftovers to reheat, and when they were done he picked at his cold-in-the-middle food in front of the TV, watching quiz shows with the volume down so he wouldn’t wake Reiner up. 

A whole year working at the bar. Jean was never one to celebrate stuff like that; in fact, it depressed him. How had a whole year passed in the blink of an eye? When he was a kid time had seemed to move so slowly, each year ticking by at a snail’s pace. All he’d wanted was to turn eighteen and move away, explore the world, leave behind the boring normalcy of his small-town life. 

It was what they had both wanted - him and Armin. Was all they would talk about, growing up. Armin had done it - he got a scholarship to a good college, all expenses paid. Jean… hadn’t. And he wasn’t bitter about it. College was something Jean was unsure about at the best of times, and even if he had wanted to go, there was no way he could afford it. 

So he decided to stay for a year, work his ass off, save up everything he earned until he could just drive off. By the time has started speeding by at a pace Jean couldn’t keep up with and before he could blink it was as if the world had left him behind. His friends were moving away one by one (Reiner excepted) and Armin wasn’t writing back as much. The time between their letters grew longer and longer, phone calls grew more infrequent, until their contact just… stopped. 

And now he was twenty-two with nothing really to show for it except the house he rented with Reiner and a job at a bar. He didn’t even have a car anymore. It was depressing, to say the least. 

Jean sighed. No use in dwelling on that now. He scraped the rest of his food into the trash and went to bed, still trying not to think about it. 

*

When Armin woke up a few seconds passed in which he had no idea where he was, until he opened his eyes, saw his childhood bedroom, and remembered that he was home. 

_ Fuck.  _

Armin’s heart twisted at the realisation, and he began feeling doubtful of all the choices he had made up until this point in his life. Why hadn’t he just  _ written,  _ for God’s sake, so that he wouldn’t have to just show up in town and announce his return in person? He couldn’t bear to think about it. What would he even say? How would he explain himself? The conversations played through in his mind, and they all led to the same dreaded question. 

_ You’re back? What for? I thought you couldn’t wait to get away! _

Because the truth was that Armin had no idea why he was back. Perhaps he was searching for familiarity, he thought, but then again, familiarity had never been something Armin had sought out. Or maybe it was because he simply didn’t know where else to go. Both answers were equally embarrassing; he could never actually  _ say _ that out loud. 

Part of him wanted to sneak back out of the house and jump on the next bus that left just so that he wouldn’t have to face seeing anyone he used to know. But Armin knew that he’d regret it, and anyway, where else was there? He couldn't go back to his college town. There was no way in hell he could show his face there again. 

He could feel the anxiety inside him start to twist uncomfortably, and he wished he had college work to do so he could at least take his mind off of it a little bit. Time to get to work on the house - that would do. There was still a stack of paper on his desk so he took a sheet and began making a list. 

 

  * __Find the fuse box__


  * _Unpack_


  * _Clean_


  * _Go out_ _and buy food_



 

Finally making his way downstairs he found an old flashlight and some batteries in the kitchen drawer filled with random odds and ends. After finding the key to the basement Armin took the flashlight and headed down there, almost bumping his head on the low ceiling. The fusebox was just at the bottom of the stairs. He stared blankly at the switches before deciding that of all of them, the big red one was likely the one to turn on all the power. Armin nervously flicked the basement’s light switch and breathed a sigh of relief as it flickered on. 

There was dust everywhere. Armin brushed off what had already begun settling on his jeans, looking around at the boxes stacked up on top of each other. They were filled with old chinaware and school books and report cards, but behind them, out of the corner of his eye, Armin spotted his old bike leaning against the wall. 

He had completely forgotten about it until then, but seeing it there sent a wave of memories over him that were so intense it brought tears to his eyes. 

Armin remembered the countless times he and Jean had ridden miles out of town along the river during summer break, staying out far past their curfews. They rode their bikes to school and back together every day, even though it was barely a ten-minute walk there. When they were much younger, still in elementary school, they’d race down the streets as fast as they could, even though Jean won every time. And then once they were in high school they would ride down to their favourite spot out of town, and sit and listen to music on their crappy portable radio while Armin studied for college and Jean flicked through magazines.

Armin squeezed through the boxes to get to his bike. It was just the same as he remembered it, albeit with slightly deflated tires and four years worth of dust. Seeing it made Armin sadder than he thought it would. Part of him wanted to take it out, but he didn’t. That would be ridiculous. So he put it back and quickly ran back up the basement steps, vowing to not go back down there unless the power went out. 

Then Armin got to cleaning and unpacking his things as slowly and neatly as possible to put off having to go out and get more food. He was just snacking on what he’d packed with him for the bus ride, though in all honesty, he wasn’t hungry at all. He played the radio in the background, mindlessly listening as he put away forks and knives and plates in all the wrong places just to try and make the house feel even just a little bit different than what he was used to. It didn’t really work, just made him feel irritated until he put them all back the right way again. 

After he’d put all his clothes away and shoved his now-empty bags under the bed he sat at his desk for a while. He opened it up and looked inside, not knowing what he’d find. More paper, dead batteries, a ruler and protractor, but most importantly there sat the old Rubik’s Cube he had all but forgotten about. Armin was suddenly brought back to the hours and hours of homework he had done at this exact spot while Jean lay on the bed behind him twisting the Rubik’s Cube and getting no work done, instead getting endlessly frustrated at his inability to solve even a single side. 

Armin fiddled with it for a bit, solving the whole thing in just a few minutes, remembering the way Jean would watch in awe as he did so. He was just putting off going out even more at this point and he knew it, but he didn’t want to shop.

The shower was the last thing he had to clean. When he was finally done Armin got in and stood under the hot water for far longer than was necessary, washing away dust and dirt from his skin and hair and trying not to catch a glimpse of himself in the half-steamed up bathroom mirror. He used up the last of the shampoo he’d brought back with him from college. 

When he got out, he knew it was time to bite the bullet and just leave the house, even though he really, really didn’t want to. Armin finally got dressed and wrote another list, this time for food and milk and toiletries, and shoved it in his pocket. The grocery shop was barely a five-minute walk from his house. Nobody would notice him if he just kept his hood up and walked quickly.  

He threw on a jacket, grabbed his backpack and put on his shoes, then stood at the door for a good minute as if he were physically unable to turn the doorknob and step outside.  _ Come on. Just go. What are you doing? _ He took a deep breath, turned on his walkman.  _ Why is this so hard?  _ Put his hand on the doorknob.  _ What is wrong with you?  _

God, it was so fucking  _ hard.  _ Not just being in his hometown. That had always been hard. It was being there alone. Being there without the person that made it bearable. And he was probably gone now. 

A selfish, mean part of him wished Jean was still in town. That he hadn’t left. Armin hated himself even more for that, but it was true; yet still, at the same time, the thought of Jean really being here terrified him, because Armin would have so much to answer for that he couldn’t bring himself to talk about. But he wouldn't be here. Jean wasn’t like him. He’d left and never come back, Armin was sure of it. 

And they’d never see each other again. The thought made Armin so sad he felt sick, even though it was all his fault. 

“Pathetic,” he said quietly, his hand still gripping the doorknob, holding back tears. But he still turned and went back upstairs. 

  
  
  



	2. Chance

Armin couldn’t get out of bed. Sometime during college, he guessed, was when this had started happening - though he can’t pinpoint the exact date. It had just started getting harder and harder to get up in the mornings. He doesn’t know why he can’t move, can’t just throw off his blankets and move his legs so his day can properly begin. He just… can’t. This isn’t similar to the feeling of wanting to stay in bed after his alarm went off back in high school. He’s not  _ tired _ . No, this is something else. It was like something heavy pushing was down on his whole body and keeping him in bed. 

It took all his energy to roll over. He saw a thin sliver of red sky appear when a breeze snaked through the half-open window and pushed weakly against his curtains. It captured his attention. He didn’t know how much time had gone by, how long he’d been staring at that particular spot, but it must have been a while, as Armin watched that strip of sky turn from red to pink to blue. 

He still didn’t have any food in the house, not that he was particularly hungry. He'd lost even more weight, and felt guilty for it, remembering how Jean would poke at his ribs, telling him to eat more, hiding his concern behind teasing like he always did. God only knew what Jean would say if he saw how thin he was now.  _ Maybe it’s a good thing he’s gone, then _ , he said to himself, still ignoring the possibility that Jean might be around. His hair was so long now. He looked a mess, nothing like the short-haired, bright-eyed eighteen-year-old he had been when he left for college.   
  
Armin went to check the clock in his room and realised the batteries had died a long time ago. He could change them. That seemed like something he might be able to get done. Checking his watch instead, he saw it was still only six forty-five in the morning. How early must he have woken up? 

It was Sunday.  _ The shops are closed today anyway. _

* * *

 

Jean woke up early. Not early enough to see the sunrise - it was bright out already - but early nonetheless. He was quiet getting dressed, as he knew Reiner would still be asleep until at least midday, and he waited to get to the front door before putting his shoes on as the floorboards creaked something fierce. 

It was already warm outside when he stepped out the door, but the air was still nice and fresh. Jean liked to be able to enjoy the outside air before it became stiflingly hot. This was the best part of the day, especially in the summertime. And there were never any cars out this early in the morning, which calmed his nerves. 

Jean walked quickly, not paying much attention to where he was going. He didn’t need to, really - it was practically impossible to get lost in a town this small. He just let his feet take him wherever they felt like going. 

He passed by the small high school, remembering all the trouble he’d gotten into, the fights he’d started. He laughed at the memory of the first (and only) time he convinced Armin to bunk off class while they were in their junior year. Jean did it all the time, but Armin was practically wracked with nerves. They’d gone for a drive in Jean’s old car down to their favourite spot by the river, Jean singing along to the radio loudly while Armin looked out the window watching fields and fields of corn pass by. Jean flicked through a magazine while Armin paced around nervously, fretting over what classes he was missing and convincing himself that they were both going to be thrown out of school. 

They used to go for drives like that all the time on the weekends. Jean wondered if Armin ever did that now - if he’d finally mustered up the courage to take his driving test, or if he’d just found someone else to take impromptu car rides with. 

The thought of driving instinctively made Jean raise a hand to his ribs, and he shook his head, snapping himself out of it. Suddenly, he realised he’d walked towards his childhood home without even realising it. He could see the lights on inside, and he wanted so badly to just saunter in like he used to, but there was a new family living there now; his mom had sold the house after the divorce. Both of his parents moved to different towns and Jean didn’t go with them.

When it happened, Jean was mad, especially at his mum. Looking back on it, he didn’t know why. He just was. Maybe it was the change he hated. He was nineteen at the time, and Armin’s house was empty and soon Jean’s would be too. 

Jean turned to look at Armin’s old house, the one right across the street from his. As much as he hated to admit it, he came here quite a lot. The sight of that empty house always made him feel -

_ Wait,  _ he thought.  _ There’s no way.  _

The window was open. There was no mistaking it. There was an  _ open window,  _ one that certainly had not been open any of the other times Jean had come to visit. He checked his watch; it was seven thirty. Too early to go and knock on the door. Were Armin’s parents back from their travels, or was it…?

No, there was no way it was Armin.  _ He wouldn’t come back without telling me.  _

He crossed the street, trying to get a closer look, maybe see inside one of the windows, but the curtains were all drawn like they normally were. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast, but he couldn’t take his eyes away. Everything was the same except for that one window; the garden was the same, the grass the same, no car in the driveway… 

_ I have to tell Reiner about this.  _ Jean didn’t care how mad Reiner would get for being woken up this early in the morning, he  _ had  _ to tell him. There was a chance that Armin’s parents… Jean shook his head, trying not to get his hopes up.  _ Maybe they hired someone to come and clean the place up a bit while they’re gone, or maybe they’re planning on finally selling it,  _ he told himself, attempting to calm down. Those were more likely scenarios than Armin’s parents coming back after just a few years of travelling. They hadn’t ever even planned to come back at all. But if Armin’s parents  _ were  _ back, then… maybe… Jean might have a chance of getting back in touch with him, of seeing him -

“Stop it, you idiot,” he muttered to himself, quickly turning on his heel to get back to his house. Reiner was level headed, most of the time; he’d help Jean out, come up with some sort of plan, maybe. Yeah, a plan. 

He was jittery, couldn’t stop shaking his hands; he wanted to run down the street as fast as he possibly could, but resigned himself to a fast walk instead. Was this an adrenaline rush? From just  _ an open window?  _

_ I must have a boring life,  _ he thought,  _ if I get so worked up over a fucking window.  _

But he was smiling, a grin on his face so genuine that he felt like a kid at Christmas. He could barely get his key in the lock, his hands were so shaky, but when he finally did, he was surprised to find Reiner already awake and attempting to cook breakfast. 

“What are you doing up?” Was the first thing Jean said - the shock of seeing Reiner awake before midday was a sight to behold - maybe an even bigger shock than seeing that open window. 

“I could say the same,” Reiner yawned, dark circles under his eyes. “Zeke woke me up, called the house about twenty times, for fuck's sake. Wants me to come in this afternoon for admin stuff at the bar and shit. Why he had to call me  _ this goddamn early- _ ”

“Zeke’s an asshole, that’s why,” Jean said, kicking off his shoes. “Anyway, there’s something I need to talk to yo-”

Reiner ignored him and continued with his rant, totally oblivious to both Jean and the eggs he was cooking, which were sticking to the pan. 

Jean took the saucepan from his hand and cooked them the right way while he waited patiently for Reiner to finish, though he was practically bursting with desperation to tell Reiner about what he’d seen. 

Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore. 

“There was a window open at Armin’s place,” he blurted out, and Reiner stopped mid-sentence to gawk at him. 

“You’re joking.” 

“I’m not, I went out for a walk and I was walking by there-”

“Of course you were.”

“Fuck off. And I saw an open window that was definitely not open when they all left.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Jean said. 

“Jesus, so… he’s back, then?”

“Who, Armin?”

“Of course Armin.”

“No, of course not, it must be his parents or something. I mean, probably not even that, they’re likely just selling the place for good.”

“Why wouldn’t it be him?”

“He wouldn’t come back without letting me know. It’s  _ Armin,  _ for Christ’s sake.”

“And…?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’ve not spoken in years, Jean, it’s not unlikely that he-”

“It’s definitely not him, Rein. I’m sure it’s not.”

“Well, why not just go round there and find out? While I’m at this fucking stock check I’ll buy a bottle of wine or something and you can take it over later. Pay me back whenever, just find out what’s going on for yourself and stop losing your shit over it. It’s weirding me out,” Reiner grinned. 

“Do you want me to cook this for you or not?” Jean raised an eyebrow. “But, yeah. That’s a good idea. Thanks, man.”

* * *

 

Waiting for Reiner to get back that afternoon was like torture. If it wasn’t Sunday, he’d have gone out and bought a bottle of wine for Armin’s parents himself, but the shops were shut and he was stuck at home,  _ waiting.  _ Jean was not a patient person, that was true all of the time, but rarely did he feel so nervous. He wandered around the house, rifling through his clothes, wondering if he should change into something more formal, then laughing at himself for being ridiculous. 

The Arlerts had treated him like a second son; he spent more time in that house than he did his own, what with all the fighting and shouting between his mom and dad. He always had a place at their table. Jean regretted never telling them how thankful he was for that before they left. There were always cheerful ‘thank-you’s, of course, but Jean had never taken the time to tell them how truly grateful he was that they’d given him a semblance of happy, normal home life. 

Jean sighed. _ Well, hopefully, I’ll have the chance to tell them today,  _ he thought, nerves once again squirming in the pit of his stomach. 

He distracted himself by making food, even though he wasn’t really very hungry. He’d just put it in the fridge for Reiner to have later. After Armin left for college Jean had discovered cooking. At first, it was a necessity, as his mom didn’t really make meals anymore and his dad never cooked in his life. But soon after, when his parents finally divorced and he moved in with Reiner, he realised he was really enjoying himself, and that he was good at it, too. 

It helped to calm him down a bit. He made up his own recipe, throwing together anything he thought would work. He hated following cookbooks; he was too impatient for that. Instead, he just skimmed through them and got a basic idea of something he wanted to make before going in practically blind. Sometimes it was a total disaster, but that was part of the fun - finding out where he’d gone wrong, how to fix it for the next time. 

“Smells good,” Reiner said when he finally got back. Jean was just finishing up, placing clingfilm over the pasta dish he’d made and putting it into the fridge. 

Reiner placed the bottle of wine on the kitchen table and sat down with a sigh. 

“You owe me,” he said. “Zeke kept me there for  _ hours,  _ and then he was being an ass about the wine, asking about our ‘candlelit dinner’ or some shit. I didn’t tell him what it’s actually for, though.”

“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”

“When are you going over there?” 

“I don’t know, soon?”

“Get going already, I can’t stand seeing you look so impatient.”

“Alright, alright,” Jean said, and with that, he took the wine and left. 

Jean didn’t know much about wine considering he worked in a bar, but in his defence, it was almost always beer he was serving. What Reiner had gotten seemed nice enough, though. He gripped the bottle with both hands as he walked briskly towards Armin’s place, paranoid about dropping it. He tried to not think too much about what he’d do if he got there and nobody was in, or it was some estate agent at the door. Probably go home and drink the whole bottle of wine in his room. 

His heart rate sped up as he turned the corner to their old street and saw the window was now shut, but… was there a light on behind the curtains? Jean squinted. It was still light outside, the sun only beginning to go down, so it was hard to tell. He stood at the end of the garden, smoothing down his pants and fixing his hair with one free hand. 

And pushed open the gate.

* * *

 

Armin was curled up in the armchair in the living room, halfheartedly watching something dull on TV.  He was drinking a cup of hot water, a weird pleasure of his. He had managed to get out of bed some hours earlier, migrating downstairs with his blankets. The newly-fixed clock sat ticking on the coffee table in front of him, proof that he had done  _ something _ , at the very least. 

_ Tomorrow,  _ he told himself,  _ I’m going to do it. I’ll go out, definitely.  _

He really hoped he meant it this time because he had totally run out of the snacks he’d brought with him from college, and he didn’t want to lose any more weight than he already had. 

It was when he was getting up to change the channel that he heard it. 

First, footsteps on the gravel outside. Then, the low, pathetic ring of a doorbell not used in four years. And finally a confident knock on the door. 

Armin’s heart was racing, and he was trying not to panic. Whoever it was would see him if he tried to peek at them through the curtains. He stood frozen still for a moment, wondering if he just didn’t move then this person would leave. He didn’t know what to do. He looked to the mirror in the hallway; he was a mess. His hair was long and unbrushed, and he was wearing the same t-shirt he’d slept in. 

He was a complete mess, but Armin found himself walking to the door, unable to stop himself. He didn’t know why, but his curiosity seemed to be getting the better of him. Did someone know, or notice he had shown back up? 

Another knock.  _ They’re persistent if nothing else _ , Armin supposed.  _ But why am I actually going to answer this?  _

He’d just open the door a crack and see who it was. There was always the option of slamming it back in their face. 

Armin’s hand was shaking as he unlocked the door and gripped the handle. 

_ Last chance to back out,  _ he told himself, and then, after a moment’s pause, pulled it open a fraction. 

Standing in front of him, a bottle in his hands, was Jean. Armin’s first thought was that he had grown taller, but other than looking slightly older and more tired, he was the same.

He opened the door the whole way.

Armin didn’t know if he was hallucinating until he spoke. 

“ _ Armin?” _

  
  



	3. Hi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True panic set in when Armin went to breathe but couldn’t; there was just the shallowest intake of breath, and nothing else. And he tried, again and again and again, to fill his lungs with air but nothing happened, just the same empty breaths over and over and over, and his heart was burning and his chest was on fire and somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of the inhuman noises he was making but right then all he could think was that he was dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a detailed description of a panic attack and some self-inflicted hair pulling. Please, do not read that part if you think it might be triggering for you. If you are suffering from anxiety and panic attacks, please seek help. If you need someone to talk to, find me on twitter @zuniha. Stay safe and remember that I love all of you! -E

Jean didn’t know what to do. He had been about to give up, assuming Armin’s parents were indeed not home after all when the door had opened up a crack and Armin Arlert himself was standing behind it. 

“ _ Armin?” _ He said, his throat completely dry, almost in disbelief. The door opened fully and there was no mistaking it; that was Armin. And Jean’s heart sank, because he looked - well, terrible. 

The dark circles under his eyes; the amount of weight he’d lost; the length of his hair - this looked nothing like the Armin he’d grown up with. Sure he’d been tired then, and skinny, and he’d had long hair, but this was entirely different and it shocked Jean to see it. He looked even smaller and younger than he had four years ago.  _ Four years.  _

Armin’s eyes were wide, almost terrified, and it was as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and Jean could tell he was fighting back tears.

And then the door slammed shut in Jean’s face.

* * *

 

Armin sank to the floor, suddenly too weak to stand.  _ What the fuck? Why was he here? Why was Jean at his door for no reason? Was he angry? Oh god.  _

Jean was knocking on the door again - no,  _ banging  _ on it. 

“Armin!” Jean yelled. “What’s going on? Open the door!” 

Armin held his hands over his ears to try and drown out the sound. He couldn’t deal with this right now; all his body knew was to shut down and stop functioning. His heart was beating so forcefully and so quickly that it felt unnatural, and Armin could hear the blood rushing through his ears at such a volume that it drowned out the sounds of Jean pounding against the door and yelling his name. Armin could still feel the jolts of the door against his back as he brought his knees up to his chest. 

This was a thing that happened sometimes. He’d be fine, he’d be fine. He just needed to wait for his heart to calm down and he’d be  _ fine.  _

But the true panic set in when he went to breathe but couldn’t; there was just the shallowest intake of breath, and nothing else. And he tried, again and again and again, to fill his lungs with air but nothing happened, just the same empty breaths over and over and over, and his heart was burning and his chest was on fire and somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of the inhuman noises he was making but right then all he could think was that he was  _ dying.  _

He didn’t know how long this lasted for; it felt like hours. Some solace was finally found when Armin raised his hands up to his head and instinctively pulled on his hair. The pain was enough to bring his mind back to his body and to make him feel slightly more real. 

_ Just get through the next few minutes, the next few minutes, the next few minutes…  _ he thought to himself over and over. His hands were shaking from how tightly he was gripping his hair between his fingers and he focused on that until his breathing slowed down enough for him to feel the slightest bit better. When the stabbing pain in his chest lessened a little Armin felt like he could let go. Suddenly, he was aware of how  _ quiet  _ it had become. Jean was no longer banging on the door or calling his name. Was he gone? Armin didn’t know. He just sat there on the floor, wiped the tears from his face, listened to the silence interrupted by deep shaky breaths. 

Eventually, he got up, slowly, leaning on the doorknob as his legs were still weak, and a voice from the other side of the door spoke out, just loud enough to be heard through the wood. 

“Armin?” It said. 

Armin felt the panic begin to well in his chest but he tamed it with a deep breath. It worked well enough for him to be able to talk. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said back.

“Can you open the door again?” 

Another deep breath. 

“Yeah.” Armin felt like he was a tiny shove away from another complete meltdown but he tried his best not to panic as he turned the handle and cracked the door open again. 

“Hi,” he croaked as if there was nothing else to say. 

Jean pulled the door open wider, holding it himself this time so Armin couldn't slam it shut. 

“What’s going on?” Jean asked. His heart hurt to see Armin looking so frightened. 

“Do you, uh, want to come in?” Armin said, shuffling a little to the side so Jean could walk past. “I’ll try and explain.”

Jean nodded and stepped inside. It was a trip back in time; the familiar scent of Armin’s house had remained in the air, amongst the lingering dust. Everything was the same, pretty much exactly the way he remembered it. Even an old pair of Jean’s shoes he’d forgotten about sat in the entryway, never given back. 

There was a tense, awkward silence between them. Jean thought he might be in some state of shock. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he was desperate to know, but he didn’t even know where to start. He’d just walked back into Armin’s house, and he had a nervous breakdown. Jean couldn’t just start bombarding him with questions about what the hell was going on, as much as he wanted to. 

But Jean felt  _ hurt.  _ Hurt that Armin had stopped writing back to him. Hurt that he’d come back without saying a word. Hell, Jean had been hurt when Armin left without him in the first place, although he hadn’t said anything at the time. He hadn’t wanted to hold Armin back, but when he got into college, Jean didn’t want him to go at all. 

Armin sat down on the couch when they entered the living room. They looked at each other for a moment, taking everything in. 

“Would you like a drink or something…?” Armin asked, instantly cringing at himself. 

“No, I’m good thanks.” It was never this formal between them. What felt like several minutes passed before Jean spoke again, even though it was probably only a few seconds. “How long have you been back for?” 

“I got here on Friday.”

There was another pause. Jean thought about it. 

“Just… why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming back?”

“I… didn’t think you’d still be here.”Armin murmured. He stared down at his hands to avoid meeting Jean’s eye. “If I’d known, I…” 

“Would have told me, or wouldn’t have come?” Jean snapped. As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted saying them. They’d come out much more harshly than he’d anticipated. Armin’s whole body reacted with shame and embarrassment and Jean felt guilt twist in his stomach. Hurting Armin was the last thing he wanted to do, what the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, I’m sorry,” Armin said quietly. He wiped his eyes, not wanting to cry any more than he already had tonight. Jean waited for him to go on, but Armin just tensed up and folded in on himself. 

Jean sighed. Despite everything, he found it impossible to be angry at Armin; he’d always been Jean’s weakness. Even when they were young kids they never fought. 

“You don’t have to explain it all right now,” Jean said, more softly than before. “We can talk about everything when you feel better. When was the last time you ate anything?” 

Armin mumbled something that Jean didn’t catch. 

“What d’you say?”

“Two days ago,” he repeated. “Except some snacks.”

“You  _ what?”  _ Jean said incredulously, then stood up and took him by the arm. He left the wine on the coffee table. Everything else would wait.

“What the hell are you doing?” Armin yelled. 

“We’re going to my house and getting you some goddamn food.” Jean marched him towards the door, then took off his coat and shoved it into Armin’s hands. “Take that, it’s getting dark.”

* * *

 

They walked in silence. Armin was wearing Jean’s coat, which was far, far too big for him but it smelled just like him and Armin’s heart was beating fast but in a different way than before. His mind was so overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions that he couldn't start to process. Nothing was making any sense.  _ Jean is walking right next to me.  _

There were so many things Armin wanted to ask but he let Jean do the talking, just like always. 

“Does that… happen a lot?” Jean asked. They both knew he was referring to Armin’s breakdown earlier. 

“Sometimes,” Armin pulled Jean’s coat tighter around him, tensing his shoulders. He didn’t like to admit things like that, but Jean could always tell when he was lying anyway. 

Jean didn’t know what to say. He hated that feeling; it was never like that between them. He knew things couldn’t go exactly back to how they were but he just felt frustrated. In the past, Jean would have been quick to say everything on his mind but in the last four years, he’d been making an effort to learn how to hold his tongue, even if he didn’t always manage to do so. 

The streets were dark now. Armin stared down at his feet. He didn’t want to look up and see all of the familiarity surrounding him. He didn’t realise how  _ crushed  _ all of those memories made him feel, how every street and every house and every step down the sidewalk just reminded of him of a time when he didn’t feel so disgusting inside himself. He wanted to go back in time. Back before he went to college, back before he changed, back before he met…

Armin balled his hands into fists, pressing his nails into the skin of his palms.  _ No. No thinking about that right now.  _ He didn’t want to start freaking out again, especially as there was no wall separating him from Jean this time. 

Jean watched him. He saw how tightly Armin was clenching his fists and wanted to take his hand and hold it in his own so that he at least wouldn’t feel so alone while going through whatever it was that he was facing. But it would be so inappropriate. Armin wasn’t the way he was. Never felt the way he always had. And Jean would just continue to ignore it to help his  _ friend _ . 

“Just around the corner now,” Jean said. “Do you remember Reiner from the year above us?”

Armin nodded. He was the quarterback of their football team in high school if he remembered correctly. Armin didn’t really pay much attention to sports. 

“Well I’m living with him now,” Jean continued, and Armin felt a strange pang of jealousy that he knew he had absolutely no right to feel. “He’s a nice guy, he won’t bother you, but I can always tell him to fuck off for a bit if you want.”

“Thanks,” Armin said quietly. 

They turned onto the next street, a small row of bungalows with neat gardens. Armin scanned the driveways for Jean’s old car but he couldn’t see it anywhere. Had he gotten rid of it? Jean loved that thing. 

“You alright?” Jean asked him. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Armin said.

“Okay. Well, it’s this one,” he said, gesturing to the house in front of them. Armin took a deep breath and followed him.

Armin’s house had been standing frozen in time since he left, but Jean’s new place was full to the brim with reminders that he had been making new memories without Armin for the past four years. Scribbled notes on the fridge, mugs and plates on the drying rack, a coat strewn over the back of am armchair - little things that prompted Armin to realise that Jean had been perfectly fine without him. 

“Sit down.” It was an order; Armin did what he was told and watched as Jean set about heating up some leftovers for him. 

“I only made this a couple hours ago,” Jean explained. “Before I left to see what was going on with your house.”

Armin blinked. Right. He hadn’t even taken the time to think about why on earth Jean had shown up on his doorstep. 

“How did you know I was here?” He asked. 

“Well I didn’t think it was you, I just thought it was your parents or a realtor, something like that. But I was out on a walk and I saw a window open.”

Armin cursed to himself. How could he have been so stupid? Of course someone would have noticed if he left a window open.  _ Idiot.  _

“So I was going to go round and see if anyone was home, and well…” Jean gestured to Armin, “you were. Much to my surprise.” 

Armin opened his mouth to try and explain, somehow, his thought process (or lack thereof) behind coming home but was interrupted by the ping of the microwave. 

“Eat,” Jean said, placing the plate in front of him. “Like I said, we’ll talk later.”

Again, Armin obeyed Jean’s orders and ate, and to his surprise, it was delicious for something that had just been heated up in the microwave. Jean must have learned to cook well while he was gone. 

“This is good,” Armin said.

Jean sat opposite him at t he table and smiled. “Thanks. I started learning when the whole divorce thing was going on,” he admitted. 

“I’m… I’m really sorry I wasn’t around to be there for you, Jean,” Armin said. Guilt was squirming in his gut again. 

“Oh, I’m fine. The divorce needed to happen. They’re both happier now.” 

_ Right,  _ Armin thought, cursing himself for the thousandth time that night.  _ Of course he was fine. He didn’t need me.  _

“You’re back earlier than I thought,” Reiner said, suddenly strolling into the room with no shirt on. He stopped in his tracks when he saw them both sitting at the table. “Oh.”

“Reiner,” Jean said, spinning around to face him. Reiner and Armin were staring at each other. “Oh my god, can you at least put on a shirt? We have a guest.”

“Y-yeah, sure, man,” Reiner said, still staring at Armin, who had broken eye contact to look intently at his pasta. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Jean said when he left the room.

“Does he… do that a lot?” Armin said, feeling another stab of jealousy, which he tried his best to ignore. 

“Yeah,” Jean said, rolling his eyes. 

They sat in silence for a while as Armin ate. He hadn’t realised how hungry he actually was. Trust Jean to be the one taking care of him, even now. Jean took the plate from him when he was done and put it in the sink. He’d wash it later. 

“Feel any better?” 

“A little. Thanks, Jean.” 

“Hey, I’m just making up for all the times I came to yours for dinner.”

“You were over pretty much every night,” Armin smiled a little at the memory.

“Well you’ll just have to come here every night then,” Jean said. “I mean - if you want, I wasn’t saying it like you  _ had  _ to-” 

Armin laughed for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“I know,” he said, mock-rolling his eyes.

Jean felt his face get warm. 

“Anyway,” he said, averting his eyes, “do you want to watch some TV or something?” 

He was still dying to ask Armin everything.  _ Wait, Jean,  _ he told himself.  _ At least until morning. _

“Sure,” Armin said. 

They moved to the couch and sat uncomfortably far from one another. Gone were the days were they would lie practically on top of each other on the couch without any shame. They used to fall asleep like that, even, waking up in the morning with sore backs and shoulders. But now they sat at each end of the three-person sofa, both trying in vain to stop thinking about the way things used to be. That was gone forever now. Though at least Reiner seemed to be staying in his own bedroom, much to their relief. It was awkward enough as it was. 

They watched a straight-to-TV action film, the kind of film Armin would have teased Jean for liking back in their high-school days. But now he sat through it in silence, not knowing what to say or how to act, allowing himself the occasional glance at Jean from the corner of his eye. The romance was so painfully forced that it made Armin cringe, and the plot was full of holes, but Jean seemed to be liking it well enough. He hadn’t changed entirely, then. It was kind of comforting to Armin in a strange way.

* * *

 

Armin hadn’t even realised that he’d fallen asleep until Jean was shaking him awake. 

“Sorry,” Armin said drearily. He was  _ so tired.  _ Too tired to feel anything else. 

“It’s gotten pretty late. You can stay here tonight if you want.” 

Jean just didn’t want him to be alone in that big house again, especially after what happened earlier. And he wanted to be sure Armin ate breakfast in the morning too. 

Armin thought for a moment. “Alright. I’ll take the couch, then.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind crashing here if you want the bed.”

“No, no,” Armin protested, still groggy, “I’ve caused you enough hassle today.”

“Not true, but okay. I’ll grab you some blankets. Is there anything you need from your place? We have a spare toothbrush you can use here.” 

“Uh, maybe some pyjamas?”

“Oh, just borrow a pair of mine,” Jean said without thinking. “We can go back if you want to, though, you don’t have to wear my stuff-”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t really feel like going back tonight if that’s okay,” Armin said. It was okay to indulge himself just this once, right? 

“Alright, give me a second then.” Jean stood up, “Spare toothbrush is the red one under the sink if you want to go brush your teeth now. Oh, and the bathroom is the first door on the right.” 

Armin went and cleaned himself up and then waited for Jean in the living room again. A few minutes later Jean came back with a pile of blankets, and an old pyjama set Armin vaguely remembered from years ago, which Jean would have surely grown out of by now. He was a lot taller than he was the last time they’d seen each other. 

“Thank you,” Armin said. “I’ll be able to tell you everything in the morning.”

“Alright,” Jean smiled. He could wait until then, surely. “Night.”

“Night, and thanks again.” 

“No problem.” Jean turned off the light on his way out. 

Armin lay in the dark for a while, wondering how he was going to explain himself to Jean in the morning. 

Because there was no way in hell Armin was going to tell him the truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety resources can be found here: 
> 
> https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/anxiety-and-panic-attacks/self-care-for-anxiety/#.XL34O-hKiUk
> 
> https://www.nhsinform.scot/illnesses-and-conditions/mental-health/anxiety


	4. Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I got a girlfriend,” Armin said. His voice sounded flat.

Armin woke up from a nightmare, drenched in sweat with his heart in his throat and the disgusting feeling of hands touching him all over. He was shaking. It was early, probably around five. He sat up slowly on Jean’s couch, back hurting from sleeping in an uncomfortable position. Jean’s t-shirt was comically huge on him. He brought his knees to his chest and tried in vain to ignore the feeling of those imaginary hands touching his face, his chest… he felt them everywhere. He wanted to be sick, but he heaved and nothing came up. He wanted to scream for it all to stop, but he needed to be quiet. There was no logical explanation for this. No way he could analyse the situation that could make it get any better. After all, it was already over and Armin still felt like it was still happening. There was nothing more inane than that.

When he choked on nothing and started finding it impossible to breathe he again took his hair in his fists and pulled until it became easier not to think about it all. 

After forever it all subsided, and Armin tentatively untangled his fingers from locks of blonde hair. Some strands, ripped out, remained in his hands. He looked at them for a second, staring blankly, like he hadn't realised what he’d done. He paused before taking a deep breath in, taking all those horrible feelings and internalising them so they didn’t get in the way again. He didn’t have time for this today - he had to have a clear mind so he could figure out what to tell Jean.

Armin got up, took the strands of hair he’d pulled out and hid them under something else in the trash so neither Jean or Reiner would notice them. He changed into his clothes from the day before and folded Jean’s, putting them on the couch when he was done. The house smelled like Jean. It’s not something he can really describe, it was just  _ Jean  _ and it made him feel strange. 

Armin decided to brew some coffee to try and get rid of that smell and that feeling. He was sure Jean wouldn’t mind. In fact, he’d probably want some when he got up. Armin took the kettle off the stove right before it started to whistle. He didn't want to wake Reiner or Jean at this hour. Plus, he needed time. 

Sitting at the table a few minutes later, holding a cup of coffee in his hands, Armin wracked his brains. What could be a good enough reason for him to have ignored Jean’s letters and calls for so long? He had to think of something believable. Part of him felt guilty that he was going to lie to Jean, but it was self-preservation. He  _ had  _ to do this. Nobody could know the truth and that was that. 

_ Okay. Think.  _ He got up and started pacing around.

Just saying that he’d been busy definitely wouldn’t cut it. Jean would see right through that in a second. It had to be something believable, something that could explain Armin’s total radio silence for years on end. 

Maybe that he had been travelling, and unable to get in touch? No, that wouldn’t explain why he hadn’t just contacted during Christmas or summer vacation. 

And then it dawned on him.  _ Perfect,  _ he thought.

* * *

 

Jean lay in bed, totally still, listening to Armin move around in the kitchen. The walls were thin in their place - he learnt that very quickly with Reiner in the house  _ \-  _ and Jean heard as Armin’s faint footsteps padded around the room. He was in two minds. Part of him thought he should just go back to sleep until a more human hour, but he also wanted to go check if Armin was alright. Armin had always been an early riser. Whenever they had sleepovers in the past Armin would be up, dressed and reading something by the time Jean woke. 

He was a worrier, too; Jean knew that. Which is why he wanted to go check on him, but he didn’t want to come off too strong. Would that be weird, now? Jean didn’t know what any of the boundaries were. The last thing he wanted to do was send Armin into another panic. Jean’s stomach clenched at the memory of the night before. Hearing Armin like that hurt him deeply, especially as he’d been able to do absolutely nothing to help. 

Jean found himself getting up in spite of how tired he was. Just to check on him. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, entering the kitchen. Armin was holding a half-full mug of coffee in his hands and looked deep in thought. He jumped when he finally noticed that Jean was standing there.

“You scared me,” Armin said, not meeting Jean’s eyes. He took a deep breath. “You’re up early, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“It’s alright,” Jean said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Armin looked much better after a night of sleep. He’d tied his hair up. It looked… different. Good different. “I’ve been waking up earlier recently.”

“Right,” Armin said, smiling sadly. “I keep forgetting how much time has passed.”

“Yeah…”

There was a tense silence.

“I guess I owe you an explanation?” 

Jean sat down at the small dining table. Armin joined him. He seemed more confident now, but something about him looked  _ off _ . Jean couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew he’d definitely never seen Armin like this before. 

“That would be good.”

“I’m sorry about last night,” Armin started. “I wasn’t really in my right mind. I guess I was just tired and stressed out about being back and everything, and it all got… a bit much?”

Jean just looked at him and raised his eyebrows. 

“I mean it, Jean. I’m really sorry if I worried you.”

“Well yeah, of course you did. You show up back in town for the first time since high school, we haven’t spoken in over two years, and then you have a complete breakdown and tell me you haven’t eaten in days? Obviously, I was worried.”

Jean felt the need to watch over him. He couldn’t help himself. Sure, they were both grown men now, but Jean still saw in Armin the scared, bullied boy he’d stood up for countless times. It was some weird instinct, even after all this time.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t answer your letters or calls.”

“I won’t lie, Armin, that really hurt. I was pretty pissed off for a while.”

“I wanted to stay in touch, I really did.”

“Why didn’t you, then?” Jean’s hurt was seeping through the cracks. He thought of all that time spent entirely alone when he’d been at rock-bottom with nobody to talk to, and Armin wasn’t answering the phone or responding to his letters. He bit his tongue. In the past he would have gotten angry, would have yelled and demanded answers. There were plenty of fights and arguments in high school due to that temper. But Jean wasn’t like that anymore. He was an adult and needed to act like one. 

“I got a girlfriend,” Armin said. His voice sounded flat.

“You… what?” He didn’t know what to say.  _ Armin? A girlfriend?  _ It was weird. It felt wrong. That wasn’t how Armin was, he’d never been interested in girls. He didn’t look at them, didn’t pay them any attention - Jean  _ knew _ , because he was always making sure. 

_ But it’s not like Armin would be lying,  _ Jean thought. Disappointment washed over him.  _ Why? It’s not like there was ever a chance for us anyway.  _ Jean knew that, of course he did. It shouldn’t be a surprise. It shouldn’t  _ hurt _ so fucking much. But it did. God, it did.

Jean forced a smile. His feelings weren’t going to get in the way now, not when Armin was back and looking so down. Despite the silence, and being ignored, Jean was just happy to have Armin back in his life. He didn’t want to fuck it all up now that he finally had him back. Whatever flicker of hope there was of at a chance of being together was gone, and that… was okay. It wasn’t right to want to be with your best friend. Armin would probably find it disgusting. Maybe he  _ was _ disgusting.

Yeah. It was good that all hope was gone.

“Took you long enough,” Jean grinned. “You had me thinking it was never going to happen.”

“Aren’t you mad?”

“I mean I  _ was _ , but that was all my own shit. I couldn’t expect you to keep hanging on to me when you had a new life away from all this shit here. I didn’t want to keep dragging you down. I had my own plans to get out of here too, and sure, they fell through - but that’s beside the point.”

Armin stared down at the table. Jean had bought the lie, and he felt  _ awful.  _ This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. He wanted so badly to be able to explain, to say  _ no. I never wanted to stop talking to you. You weren’t dragging me down.  _

They were supposed to both move away and start a new life, maybe in the city somewhere, or on the coast. Anywhere but here. And yet here they were, four years later, and it felt weird and wrong. But he had to keep his composure. He couldn't lose focus and slip up. He’d succeeded, right? Jean wasn’t mad at him. Things could go back to normal. 

“Hey,” Jean said, poking Armin on the head. “What d’you look so down for? Oh… Shit, did you break up? Is that why you’re back?”

“Yeah,” Armin said.  _ Something like that. _ “I didn’t really know where else to go when I finished college.”

“So you came back  _ here  _ of all places _? _ ” Jean asked, laughing a little. 

Armin shrugged and gave him an awkward smile. “Things didn’t quite go exactly to plan, did they?” 

“You can say that again,” Jean laughed. “So… what now? Do you have any plans, or are you just kind of winging it?”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Armin admitted. 

“Wow, you really have changed,” Jean poked him again and stood up. “Do you at least know what you want to do today? Are you off back home?” 

“I need to go to the store, pick up some stuff,” Armin said. “I hadn’t really been able to work up the courage to leave the house until yesterday.”

“Well, I need to grab a couple things, so I’ll join you if you want. No pressure, though.”

“Alright,” Armin said after he thought for a moment. He didn’t want to stay here forever, relying on Jean, but maybe it just this once it would be alright if Jean was there with him. Just to help him get back into the swing of things. 

“Cool. Get a shower if you want, I’m going to make breakfast. If you need me shout me - I’ll deal with Reiner if he wakes up,” Jean said, getting up from the table. He placed a hand on Armin’s shoulder. “I hope you’re alright.”

Armin faked a smile and went off to get a shower. Once he’d gotten in and figured out the temperature, he stood under the water for a while, thinking. 

There was no judgement with Jean. That was one of the things about him that Armin had forgotten. When they were kids, Jean never looked down on him for crying, or for being so into studying, or for any of the things some of the others bullied him for. They were best friends and that was that. And now Armin was back, and he was still crying, and he was very much embarrassed about his meltdown the night before - but Jean was the same old Jean, treating him the same as he always had, despite everything. 

_ You really are horrible,  _ a voice in Armin’s head said to him,  _ for lying to him like this. You don’t deserve his forgiveness, you know that, right?  _

Of course he knew. There was just no other alternative.

Armin scrubbed at his skin until he felt less dirty but that awful sensation lingered under the surface like it always did. The thought of going out to the store made him irrationally nervous. Jean would be there, right? And things with Jean were weird, but not  _ bad. _

When he finally got out, he got dressed - again - and headed back to the kitchen, where Jean was sat eating breakfast. There was already a plate sat out for him. 

“Eat,” he said, not looking up from the newspaper he was reading. 

Armin sat down opposite him again. “I don’t normally eat breakfas-”

“I don’t care,” Jean said, still reading. “Eat.”

Armin smiled a little and started picking at his eggs. “What are you looking at?”

“Jobs,” Jean sighed. 

“Are you not working at the moment?”

“No, I am, I work at the bar with Reiner. I just need a second one.”

Armin felt guilty, then, for having it so easy. His parents put him through college, they were letting him stay in their empty house for free, and he had enough money to get by, while Jean was working hard for everything. His parents had always been too busy fighting to pay any attention to him. It reminded Armin how lucky he was. 

“I should really try and get a job too,” he said. 

“Oh yeah? Doing what?”

“I have no idea,” Armin said. The prospect of leaving education and entering the workforce terrified him. But he’d have to if he was going to be staying here for a while.  He took another mouthful of food. He felt a bit sick, but he knew Jean would get on his case if he didn’t eat. 

Jean put down the newspaper, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Nothing,” he said, finishing the last of the food on his plate. “Ah well. Next time.”

Jean went off to get a shower, leaving Armin to sit and pick at his food some more. He felt like he could breathe a little now that Jean was out of the room - it was always so  _ stifling  _ whenever he was around. He washed their plates and the coffee mugs when he was done, and left them to dry on the rack while he put on his shoes.

“Ready?” Jean asked when he came back in. His hair was all wet and sticking to his face. 

“Yeah,” Armin said. He checked the clock; it was half six in the morning, so hopefully they wouldn’t run into anyone. 

“Let's go. Don’t let the door slam, it’s loud.”

“Got it.”

* * *

 

It was just about light out, and Armin walked quickly to keep up with Jean’s quick pace, just like it had always been. They were headed to Armin’s first so he could grab his bag and some money, and from there it was only a five minute walk to the store.

Walking around town with Armin during the day was even stranger that it had been last night, Jean thought. Especially when they got to his place, and Armin awkwardly invited him inside while he grabbed his things. 

It was weird. More than weird. Jean had a good chance to look around now that it was light and he wasn’t worried about Armin having another breakdown. Armin had gone upstairs, and Jean waited in the living room, just taking it all in. There were so many things he’d forgotten about just lying around, pictures on the wall that had faded from memory, Armin’s mom’s china set locked away in the cupboard. 

He wandered into the dining room. How much time had they spent bickering at this table while doing homework; eating together when Jean’s parents had been too busy fighting to cook? 

He ran his fingers over the table’s edge, noticing the chip in the wood from when Armin had fallen and hit his head once. They’d been, what… eight? Nine? Jean remembered it like it was yesterday. Armin hadn’t cried until he realised how much it was bleeding. Jean had yelled for Armin’s dad and they all bundled into the car to go to the hospital, Jean tagging along because he refused to let Armin go without him. He remembered standing nervously in the waiting room for Armin to come out, and being overjoyed when he did. Jean had been so happy when Armin gave him that big, wobbly smile and a thumbs up. 

“What are you doing?” Armin asked, walking into the room.

“Remembering that time you smacked your head on the table,” Jean said, gesturing to the dent.

Armin chuckled, coming over to look at it. 

“I’d totally forgotten about that,” he said, reaching up to touch the scar hidden under his bangs. “Remember how mad your mom was when you got back?”

“Oh my god, she was pissed,” Jean laughed. “I probably should have told her I was going to the hospital with you guys.”

“Yeah, you think?”

“In my defense, it was an emergency!” 

“I wasn’t  _ dying,  _ Jean, you didn’t need to come-”

“You were crying like you were,” Jean interrupted, grinning. Armin pulled an indignant face, but he burst into laughter too after a couple of seconds. Jean liked seeing him like this.

“What do you expect?” Armin said after a minute, still laughing. “I was bleeding everywhere, of course it freaked me out!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jean teased, leaning back on the table. “So you  _ are  _ glad I came then.”

“Shut up.”

What a relief it was, Jean thought, to feel some of that awkwardness between them dissipate. It was a little more like the old times, like they were a little closer to becoming the inseparable Jean-and-Armin from before. 

“You got everything?” Jean asked, seeing the backpack Armin was carrying. 

“Yeah,” Armin said, tensing up a bit again.

“Don’t stress about it,” Jean reassured him, “we’re just going to the store.”

Armin nodded.

The rest of the way there, after they left the house, was nerve-wracking. Armin was terrified of bumping into somebody they knew, and having to explain why he was home. All he wanted to do was run back home and hide in bed. He’d lock the door behind him and never come out again. 

But Jean wouldn’t let him He had to  _ eat,  _ apparently.

Before long, they were standing outside. It was a small store, locally owned. They used to come here to buy candy after school when they were kids. Jean was at the door and Armin was a little ways behind, trying to see through the store window without looking obvious about it. He was gripping onto the straps of his backpack anxiously. 

“Just go in,” Jean said, gesturing to the entrance. “I’m right behind you.”

Armin took a deep breath, mustering the courage to walk inside. He couldn’t believe this was who he had become. After a moment he opened the door, the bell startling him a little, and walked in. 

“Good morning,” said a sleepy voice, and then - “Armin? Is that you?”

 


	5. Chest Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sasha?” He asked nervously, like he didn’t remember her name, even though he did. 
> 
> “Hey!” She exclaimed. "It's been years! Your hair - it’s gotten so long now!”
> 
> “Yeah…” Armin said awkwardly, looking at the door for Jean to come and save him. He could feel his breakfast squirming in his stomach. He hated this.

“Armin? Is that you?” The voice said, and Armin quickly turned around to see who it was. She was sat at the counter, dyed dark red hair falling over her face and looking tired.

“Sasha?” He asked nervously, like he didn’t remember her name, even though he did. 

“Hey!” She exclaimed, getting up from the counter and rushing over to give him a hug. Armin stood still, stiff and awkward, before putting an arm around her and patting her on the back. He didn’t do well with sudden affection like that, even though Sasha was as nice they came. 

They’d been in the same class together all their lives, and Armin hadn’t really ever considered her a friend. More of an acquaintance really. In all honesty, he’d not thought about her at all. It was so odd to see her again. She looked exactly the same, right down to the colour of her hair dye.

“It’s been years!” Sasha said, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn. Armin glanced at the clock, seeing how early it was still. Normal people weren’t usually out of bed yet. Sasha must have been one of them. “Your hair! It’s gotten so long now!”

“Yeah…” Armin said awkwardly, looking at the door for Jean to come and save him. He could feel his breakfast squirming in his stomach. He hated this. He wanted to go home and lock the doors and get into bed and not come out. 

“Armin’s back in town for a while now that he’s finished college,” Jean said, leaning against the door he’d shut behind him. 

“How are you doing?” Sasha asked, stepping back and putting a hand on his shoulder. “How was college? Was it fun?”

“Oh, yeah, it was good,” Armin lied, casting another look at Jean. “How have things been with you?”

Armin cringed at how strangely his words were coming out - his voice sounded so alien and tense, and he hoped Sasha couldn’t tell how uncomfortable he was.

“Good!” She said, yawning again. “Been working here at my parent’s place, boring as always.”

Armin nodded, unable to look at her in the eyes. God, that had been his worst nightmare - just stuck doing the same thing over and over in this town, waking up and living the same day for the rest of his life. Before college, he couldn’t think of anything worse. He’d judged people like Sasha.

Now, part of him wished he’d just done the same as her. 

“What are you looking for, you need a hand with anything?” Sasha asked, gesturing around. She pulled a candy bar out of her pocket and started eating it. 

“General groceries,” Jean said, walking over to the fridge to get some milk. “Armin, are you going to get food, or do you plan on just standing there?” 

_ Right, _ Armin thought.  _ Move your damn legs.  _

Armin started milling around, looking at all the tins and boxes on the shelf, painfully aware of how Jean and Sasha’s eyes were on him. He couldn’t focus on what to get and found himself reading the same label over and over and over. 

“So, what were you studying again?” Sasha asked with her mouth full. 

“He was doing marine biology, right?” Jean said, filling in for him. Armin tensed up, feeling shame rise up in his throat. 

“Um, actually, I was going to do that,” Armin said, his voice almost hoarse. “But I switched majors during freshman year.”

“You switched?” Jean asked. “What did you switch to?”

Armin had his back turned to them both but he could tell from his voice that Jean was frowning. 

“Education,” he said, picking up a can just so he had something to hold and focus on. It was a tin of green beans. He stared at it like those green beans were the most interesting things he’d ever seen in his life. 

Jean was confused. Armin had been so  _ dead set  _ on studying marine biology. It was all he talked about, how excited he was to see the ocean and study all the things within it. Why had he changed? Armin never showed  _ any _ interest in teaching. Jean wanted to say something, to ask why, but he bit his tongue. He didn’t want to jump down Armin’s throat over this, especially not when he looked so uncomfortable. He could ask about it later. 

“That’s cool!” Sasha said. “Are you gonna go for a job at our old school, then? You were always Mr Smith’s favourite, and he’s the principal now, did you know?”

Armin didn’t know that. He put down the can of green beans. It actually made him a little happy to hear, because Mr Smith had always been his favourite teacher too. 

“I don’t know,” he said, still thinking. He picked up a box of pasta and dropped it into his basket. What would it be like to work at their old school? Armin didn’t know if he could do it. The thought of those hallways teeming with people and how loud it was and how  _ much _ was happening all the time just made him feel sick. 

And it was supposed to just be a quick stop, here. A place to catch his breath, get back on his feet. Not… permanent. Sure, he had no idea what he was doing, but he had never planned on staying here for long, so he didn’t  _ need _ to.

While Armin grabbed all the things he needed, Jean chatted to Sasha. Armin was jealous of how effortlessly he got along with people. It was never that easy for him. He always worried so much about how strange he sounded and how uncomfortable he made people with his awkwardness. But Jean? He could talk to anyone. He was always cool, always said the right things, always had people laughing along with him. 

Sure, he was annoying, too. And he was brash and cocky at times, and he never knew when to back down, and his mouth got him into trouble.

But Armin had always secretly liked that side of him, even if he chastised him for it. 

He took his basket to the counter, and Sasha kept chatting with Jean while she scanned his stuff, which Armin was grateful for. Even after all this time, Jean knew when he needed to step in. When it was done they all waved goodbye and Sasha made Armin promise to come by again so they could have more of a catch-up. Armin thought that was unlikely. 

It had gotten hot by the time they stepped outside, even though it was still early.

“Let me get that,” Jean said, taking the backpack from Armin, who was struggling to carry it. 

“I’ve got it,” Armin insisted, not letting go. 

“Armin, just let me carry it,” Jean said. Armin let go reluctantly, rolling his eyes. Jean swung the backpack over his shoulder. 

And all of a sudden it felt like his ribs were on fire. 

“Shit,” he hissed, stopping in his tracks and raising a hand to his chest. 

“What?” Armin asked, stopping beside him. “What is it?”

Jean grunted in pain, putting the backpack down on the ground. This was bad. It happened sometimes if he pulled something or moved the wrong way.  _ Shit. _ He needed to be more careful around Armin.

“Nothing,” Jean lied, trying to take shallow breaths so his ribs didn’t hurt even more. 

Armin picked up the backpack, shoulders already aching from the weight of it, and looked at Jean with concern. He looked like he was in  _ pain _ . Badly. 

“Seriously, I can get it,” Jean said.

“No,” Armin asserted. He’d be fine, the walk wasn’t that far. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I told you,” Jean said, “I just moved weird and must have pulled something. I can seriously -”

“Come on,” Armin said, adjusting the straps on the bag and ignoring his protests. There was definitely something off about that. Jean looked like he was really hurting. Had something happened? Should he ask?

Jean followed him, walking a bit faster to catch up. He tried not to touch his ribs or act weird about it. He didn’t need Armin asking questions. He didn’t need to know what was going on there. 

It would only make him feel worse. 

When they got back to Armin’s, Jean helped Armin put the groceries away, that weird sense of familiarity back again. He tried to ignore that burning pain in his chest and his shortness of breath, but he kept catching Armin staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He was too perceptive.

Jean wanted to ask about his girlfriend, but he didn’t know if it would piss him off, especially as they’d broken up. What was she like? He wondered. Was she smart? Was she pretty? Did she make him laugh like Jean used to?

Jean wondered if they’d gone on drives together, if they’d pulled all-nighters together, if they’d… 

He didn’t want to think about that one.

And the  _ ocean.  _ Even if Armin switched majors, he still would have seen it; the college he chose was on the coast. In fact, Armin had barely even talked about it in those few letters they shared back and forth when he first arrived, before all the contact stopped. Jean was bitter that he couldn’t have been there, couldn’t have seen Armin’s face when he saw the sea for the first time.

* * *

 

Jean had seen the ocean before. One summer when he was eleven, his parents had taken him on a long and miserable vacation to Germany. Two weeks. He remembered how when they were on the plane, his mom had chastised him for constantly leaning over her to look out the window at the ocean below them. Jean sulked back in his seat for the rest of the journey. 

He’d drawn all sorts of pictures and taken lots of photos to show Armin. If you just looked at them, it would have been easy to think they’d all had a good time. But most of what Jean remembered was how bored he was of his parents fighting all the time, and wishing he could have taken Armin with him. He’d just been lonely, really. There were no other kids where they were staying, so Jean did everything by himself.

Armin had been insanely jealous, and Jean was moody about the whole trip when he got back. 

“I don’t understand how you’re not more  _ excited _ about this!” Armin had said the day Jean got back. They had a sleepover at Armin’s place that night. Jean hadn’t even bothered unpacking his suitcase before running over to Armin’s to give him all the drawings. They were spread out all across the floor. The photos still needed to be developed; they’d done that another day. 

“It would have been more fun if you were there,” Jean replied. “My mom just wanted to do  _ boring _ stuff, we were just walking around all the time looking at junk.”

“That  _ is _ fun,” Armin protested, picking up one of the drawings and holding it right up to his face. 

“For you, maybe,” Jean said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning over him. He stuck his tongue out. “But that’s because you’re a weirdo.”

“I am not!” 

“Are too!”

“Jean, I’m  _ not! _ ”

“Just admit it!”

They laughed together, messing around and play fighting until Armin’s mom called up the stairs to tell them to go to sleep. Really, Jean had just been glad to be back and away from his parents for a while.

“I missed you,” Armin said, once they had calmed down and turned off all the lights save for the nightlight Armin still had. Jean always teased him for that. Armin rolled onto his side, looking down at Jean. He was lying in his sleeping bag on the floor, the red one that he kept at Armin’s at all times. “It was boring while you were gone.”

“It was boring there too,” Jean said, rolling onto his back. “I never thought I’d say I was glad to be back here.”

“I’m  _ never _ gonna say that.”

“I know you won't.”

“I mean it. I’m gonna go see the ocean too, and you’re gonna be so jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous? I’ve already seen it.”

“You just will be,” Armin said. 

“Sure.”

“I mean it!”

“I know you do."

* * *

 

Jean put away the last of the groceries and smiled a little at the memory, even though it made him sad.

“What is it?” Armin asked, seeing the look on his face. 

“I was just thinking,” Jean said, turning to him. “What was it like? Living by the ocean for so long. You never shut up about it before.”

Jean saw a bit of the light fade from Armin’s eyes. Armin turned away to put the kettle on, not looking at him. 

“It was alright,” he said. “Cool to finally see it, I guess.”

“That’s it?” Jean asked.  _ What? _

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t stop talking about seeing the ocean when you got into that college, and it was just  _ alright? _ ”

Armin shrugged, hunching over a bit. “Yeah.”

Jean stared at him for a moment in total silence. What  _ happened _ to the Armin he once knew? Had breaking up with his girlfriend really affected him that much? It must have been more serious than Jean really wanted to let himself believe. 

And  _ God  _ he was hurt. It hurt so badly. Had it even fully sunk in yet? That Armin had a girlfriend, and instantly dropped him for her? He’d told Armin it was fine, that he couldn't have expected him to hang around waiting for Jean to catch up. But that didn’t make it any less painful. 

“I don’t get it,” Jean said. 

“There’s nothing  _ to _ get,” Armin lied, trying to keep his voice from giving him away. He reached up and took two mugs out of the cupboard. “Tea?”

“No,” Jean said. “No, thanks.”

Armin put one of the cups back, hurt by his tone. He should have just lied, and said it was great. Now Jean was on his back about it. 

“It’s just water,” Armin said, doubling down even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. “It was a silly childhood dream. It’s really not that special.”

That didn’t sit right with Jean at  _ all.  _ That wasn’t his Armin. 

_ He was never ‘your Armin,’  _ he reminded himself, scowling. 

“And switching majors? Is that because you got bored, too?”

“It wasn’t that I got  _ bored, _ Jean, I just changed,” Armin said, pouring the water into his mug. His hands were shaking again. “People change.”

“Yeah, that’s obvious to me now.” Jean said sarcastically, raising his eyebrows. He knew he was an asshole for saying that, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Jean saw the way Armin froze for a second then mechanically moved to go and set the kettle down, and he felt guilty, but he was too stubborn to take it back. Armin didn’t say anything for a few moments; he just started stirring his tea, looking out the window. 

“Well, what did you expect?” He said, putting the spoon in the sink and finally turning around. Jean watched him, saw how…  _ deflated  _ he looked. “That I was going to go off to the other side of the country for four years and stay the same?”

“No, but-” Jean protested, wanting to snap at him, but he bit his tongue. Was it really worth fucking things up over this? 

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Jean said, running his hand through his hair.

“No, what was it?”

 “I said it was nothing, Armin,” Jean sighed, feeling like he was fucking things up again. His chest was still hurting from before, and this was making it even worse. “Look, I should get going. I’m working later.”

“Oh,” Armin said, giving up. “Right, yeah. Okay. I’ll see you out then.”

Armin walked him to the door, and Jean just had this feeling - that something was really wrong. He wanted to say something, to fix all this tension that had suddenly come back, but he couldn’t find the words. 

“See you later,” was all that he said, not sure when ‘later’ really was. 

* * *

Armin went and sat down in the living room after he left, feeling like he was going to cry. He was such an  _ idiot. _ All he had to do was try and act like his old self for once, and he couldn’t even do that. He had to make it depressing. He pulled his legs up onto the armchair, resting his chin on his knees, and closed his eyes. 

“Don’t be surprised if he doesn’t want to come around again after this,” he muttered to himself. 

Armin should have just lied again, told Jean it was all great - that the ocean was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen, better than he could have possibly imagined, and that living with a view of it from his dorm room window was the best. Jean would probably have bought it, just like he bought his other lies. 

It would be fine. Armin wasn’t going to stay here long enough for him to find out the truth, and that was a good thing. Nobody could know. 

Nobody  _ would _ know. He’d make sure of it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on twitter about Jearmin @zuniha1 !!


	6. À Bientôt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You haven’t gone over there?” Reiner asked.
> 
> “No, god. No, I’ve not gone over there.”
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> “Because he’s weird now!”
> 
> “You don’t mean that.”

Word was spreading around town; Armin was home from college. Armin figured Sasha had told someone who had told someone who had told someone else until the whole town knew, and he was mortified. Each knock on the door had a friendly face on it, but when his old friends and acquaintances came to visit, he felt even worse. 

He was getting better at pretending that he had any idea what he was doing. Really, he should have prepared more for everyone finding out he was home - he knew it was going to happen eventually, but once Armin found out Jean was back, everything else kind of went out the window. 

Marlowe and Hitch came to visit, Hitch sporting a diamond on her ring finger, which she kept glancing at and smiling. They stayed for coffee and complimented the place, asking about Armin’s degree and his career goals, and oh, was he seeing anyone? Armin just shook his head, smiling and saying no, trying to answer their questions as politely as possible and keeping his story straight. Armin was happy for them, but when they left he felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He’d never get to have that.

But that was fine. That was fine. He didn’t need it. Didn’t deserve it, anyway.

Armin vowed to keep his curtains shut and his lights off after Mina, Thomas and Hannah all came to visit on the same day. He was socially  _ exhausted _ after all their questions - not that it took much to drain him anyway. 

These were people he’d considered friends in high school, at least something close to that, but it was like they were total strangers now. He didn’t really care about their engagements or their promotions or their new jobs at all. 

It had been days since he’d spoken to Jean, too, and Armin felt like shit about it. He wanted to go over there, but what did he say? Jean had made it clear that he was no longer the same person he’d been best friends with. He was depressing now, but he knew that. But he hadn’t even expected Jean to be here, so he needed to stop being so fucking miserable that they weren’t seeing each other, especially when it was his own fault that they stopped talking in the first place. 

On Friday, a week after he’d come back, he was woken up at the crack of dawn by the phone ringing. He suddenly regretted hooking the phone back up, he thought as he padded downstairs.

“Hello?” He croaked, checking the time. Four in the goddamn morning. 

“Armin!” His mom yelled from down the line. “It’s been so long! I missed you so much! How  _ are  _ you?”

Armin held the phone away from his ear, wincing. She was always so loud. 

“I’m fine,” he yawned. 

“Oh, no, I didn’t wake you up, did I? What time is it for you, I completely forgot!”

“Early, but it’s alright. I needed to get up anyway, things to do,” Armin lied. “Where are you guys?”

He heard his mom talking to his dad, her voice muffled as she must have been holding her hand over the receiver. 

“Cannes? Caen? Which one, dear?” She said, then he heard her voice go back to normal. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. We’re in France, just about to stop and get some lunch. We’ve been having an amazing time, I’ll write you a letter when I can find a moment, but I thought I’d call and check in on you and see how you’re doing, are you okay? You’re eating enough, aren’t you? I tried to call a few days ago but the line was disconnected, did you only just get it set up-”

Armin waited for her to be done before answering. 

“Yes, mom, I’m fine, and I’m eating enough,” he said, yawning again. “Sorry I didn’t get the phone sorted out before, it’s been really hectic moving back in and everything.”

“No, no, you have a lot on your plate, Armin. I’m sure the house needed a lot of love when you got back.”

“It wasn’t so bad, once I found everything and got it all clean.”

“I’m so proud of you,” his mom said. “Living all on your own, like this.”

“ _ Mom,”  _ Armin shook his head. “It’s not like it’s my own place, there’s nothing to-”

“Ah,” she interrupted. “Just because you didn’t get the grades you were hoping for, that doesn’t mean -  _ dear!  _ Armin, love, I have to go, your father’s trying to speak French.”

Armin sniffed a bit and smiled. “Alright, mom. Tell dad I said hi. See you later.”

_ “À bientôt!”  _

The line went dead, and Armin listened to the tone for a second before putting the phone back on the wall and sighing. He was up, now. Armin had always slept weirdly, and once he was awake he could never drift off again. 

Fifteen minutes later he was sitting in the bath, the water probably a bit too hot. He’d wanted to listen to music, but he forgot that the batteries on his walkman had died and he hadn’t picked up any more yet. So Armin had brought a book with him, just some random adventure novel he grabbed from his bookshelf. Lying there quietly in the water for a while, the book sitting on the stool next to the bath, Armin thought about his parents, and how he’d expected to be living their life by now, off in some foreign country studying everything there was to know about the ocean and what lived in it. 

Sinking down under the water, Armin stared up at the ceiling, wishing things were different. He didn’t know how much time passed before he grabbed his book and started trying to read. Reading used to be so easy; he could get lost in a book for hours, even a whole day, tearing through novels like they were nothing. But now he could barely get past the first page. He was just  _ bored.  _ The words were a complete drag to read, and he kept catching himself just scanning the lines without actually taking anything in, having to go back up and re-read the last few paragraphs just so he knew what was going on. 

This was just another way he’d changed for the worse. 

Armin was annoyed at himself when he started crying. Throwing the book to the side, he wiped his tears away angrily, feeling so  _ stupid _ . Why couldn’t he just go back to normal? Was his old self entirely gone? Life had been so simple when he thought he knew what he was doing. Now he just had no idea where to go. 

* * *

 

“Morning,” Reiner said, coming out of his bedroom and into the living area. 

Jean was cooking, and he looked over at Reiner. His hair was sticking up all over the place and he looked exhausted. 

“Afternoon,” Jean corrected, turning back to the stove.

“Ugh, really?” Reiner said. He looked up at the clock and groaned. “Can you make a pot of coffee?”

“I’m making your lunch right now,” Jean said, raising his eyebrows. “What did your last slave die of?”

“Jean, please,” Reiner said, sitting down on the couch and rubbing his head.

“Fine,” Jean said, “but only because I want a cup too.”

“My hero,” Reiner said dryly. “Are you still good to cover my shift tonight?”

Jean had forgotten that Reiner asked him to do that. Shit. Good thing he reminded him. 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Jean said. He grabbed down two plates and some Tupperware from the cupboard and set them on the counter, ready to serve up his and Reiner’s lunch and save the rest for leftovers. He liked to have food to eat when he came home from work, and Reiner did too, judging by how often he stole whatever Jean had in the fridge. “Not like I have plans.”

He plated up, sorting out the food while the coffee brewed, and handed Reiner his before sitting down at the table. Reiner came over to sit with him. He looked terrible, to be frank. 

“How come you need me to cover, anyway?” Jean asked, his mouth full. “You sick? You look like shit.”

“Nah, not sick. Just have to go to Annie and Bert’s engagement party tonight.”

“In the city?”

“Yeah,” Reiner said gloomily, picking at his food, pushing it around the plate with his fork.

“Annie…” Jean said, trying to remember. “Was she that blonde you used to hang out with? The one that was a bit of a bitch?”

Reiner snorted. “She’d kick your ass if she heard you say that, but yeah.”

“And the tall one. Bertholdt, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“What a weird pair.” 

“Tell me about it.” Reiner looked away again. He was frowning, obviously unhappy about something. 

“What is it?” Jean asked. “You don’t wanna see them?”

“Nah, it’s not that. They’re my best friends. It’ll be fine. Yeah, it’ll be good.”

It sounded to Jean that Reiner was trying to convince himself more than anything, but he was in no place to call him out for that. He had no idea what the problem was. Maybe they were going through the same thing, and Annie and Bertholdt were different now and they didn’t really get each other anymore.

“Lighten up, you’ll have fun,” Jean said instead, clapping him on the shoulder as he stood up to go finish the coffee. “You taking your car?”

“Getting a ride with some of the other guys,” Reiner said. “I’ll be back tomorrow sometime, probably.”

“Don’t get too drunk,” Jean said, knowing what he was like. 

Reiner rolled his eyes. “I won’t.  _ Mom.” _

“Hilarious. Here, take your damn coffee.”

“Thanks. For that, and covering my shift.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” Jean sat back down. “I owed you for picking me up that bottle of wine anyway.”

“Oh yeah,” Reiner said, glad to change the subject. “How’s that going? You seen him again yet?”

“No.” It was Jean’s turn to grumble. 

“Why not? You were so excited.”

“Well, yeah, I was,” Jean said, “but I dunno, it’s just… weird. It’s awkward.”

“Well yeah, it’s going to be,” Reiner said, like that was obvious. “You haven’t seen him in years, it'll be a bit weird at first. Have you met up since that first day?”

Jean looked away. 

“You haven’t gone over there?”

“No, god.  _ No _ , I’ve not gone over there.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s  _ weird  _ now!”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Jean muttered. “It’s just weird. He goes off to college and gets this girlfriend, stops talking to me out of the blue and then when he comes back, I don’t even know. It’s like all the life’s been sucked out of him.”

“He got a girlfriend. Armin. Got a girlfriend? Before  _ you? _ ” Reiner snorted.

“Shut up,” Jean said, glaring. “Yes, he got a girlfriend.”

“Where is she? Is she coming back here?”

“They broke up,” Jean shrugged. “I don’t know what happened, he’s kind of cagey about it.”

Reiner stood up, putting a hand on his shoulder. “No wonder he’s a bit off if he’s just gone through a breakup. You need to go over there and take his mind off it. Be a bro.”

Jean shrugged him off, snorting. “ A  _ bro _ . Right.”

“Fuck, I don’t know, just go cheer him up or something.”

“Nah, it’s fine. If he wants to talk, he can call.”

“Did you give him the house number?”

Jean looked away. 

“Oh my god, just go over there, for god’s sake. I can tell you want to. Stop being a pansy.”

“I’m not a pansy!”

“Prove it then,” Reiner said, going to sort out his plate. 

Prove it.  _ Ugh _ . 

* * *

 

Jean was still thinking about their conversation at work that night. He kept his eyes on the door, checking over to see if Armin was going to walk through as if he'd just sit down at the bar and order a whiskey. 

As if. 

He hated how right Reiner was. It was typical, Jean thought, for Reiner to tell someone what they didn’t want to hear and still be completely right. That’s just what he was like. He’d said it again when Marcel and Porco came to pick him up that evening, and Jean couldn’t get those words off his mind. 

In all honesty, Jean was still worried about Armin. He wanted to go over there and check on him, but there was this weird, stupid, lingering fear that Armin really didn’t want him there, that his company was just a replacement for his ex-girlfriend. 

Jean knew he didn’t want to stay here any longer than he had to, either. Despite his…  _ setback _ , he wanted to keep pushing forward. It was taking longer than he expected, but he still wanted to go, to get out of this town and find a place of his own somewhere else. That’s what Armin wanted, too, right? Jean just couldn’t understand why he wanted to come back here now when he’d gone, he’d done it. 

For the sake of his own heart, he refused to even entertain the possibility that Armin had come back for him. That was stupid. And it made no sense. 

“Oi, Jean!” A voice exclaimed from behind him. Right - shift change. Connie was here. Jean felt relieved instantly; it was impossible to be moody when Connie was around. 

“Hey, man,” Jean said, pushing any negative thoughts from his head and grinning. “How’s it going?”

Connie grabbed a cloth from the side and started polishing a glass that really didn’t need polishing. He looked more excited than Jean had ever seen him 

“Guess what?” He said proudly.

“What?” 

“Landed a date with Sasha,” Connie grinned, leaning forward. “She’s letting me take her to dinner.”

“Shit, finally!” Jean exclaimed. “For real?”

“Yeah, man! At that Italian place.”

“The fancy one?”

“Yeah, next week.”

“Dude, that place is expensive! She’s going to eat you out of pocket.”

Connie tapped his nose. “I’ve been saving up for this for years.”

Jean laughed. “And she definitely is going for the date, and not the food? She does know it’s  a date, doesn’t she?”

“Yep, she said it herself,  _ it’s a date. _ ”

Before Jean could respond, they were interrupted by a guy ordering a drink. Jean served him, and when he turned back to Connie, his expression had changed drastically. 

“What if I fuck this up,” he said, a horrified look on his face. “Jean, I need your help. Girls love you, I need your advice here. How the hell do you do this?”

Jean resisted the urge to snort. Sure, girls liked Jean, but he’d never  _ dated _ any of them. Jean hadn’t even gone to prom. 

“You’ve been on dates before, Con’,” Jean said. “Stop panicking so much. You’ll be fine.”

“Not dates with  _ Sasha _ ,” Connie groaned. “That’s different.”

“You’ve hung out plenty of times. You got her to agree to go out with you, right? She must like  _ something  _ about you.”

Connie wiped down the bar. “Yeah. It’s fine. I’ll just be myself.”

“It’s a nice restaurant. Be yourself, but like, a  _ bit _ fancier,” Jean laughed. 

“What do I wear? A suit?” 

“Just wear something nice, I dunno. It’ll be fine, stop worrying about it. When did you ask her, anyway?”

“Earlier today, I was at the store and she mentioned it, and I just kind of… asked? Before I even realised what I was saying she said she was up for it.”

“So you’re telling me, after all that time you spent thinking of ways to ask her out, you did it on a  _ whim _ ?”

Connie grinned. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Dude, she probably mentioned it  _ so _ you would ask. I bet she was sick of you waiting.”

“Seriously?” Connie asked, his eyes wide. “You think I waited too long?”

“I think you should have asked her in high school.”

“She went to prom with that Niccolo guy!”

“Only because you didn’t ask her.”

“Stop reminding me,” Connie said. “And if I remember correctly, you couldn’t find a date either. Somehow. Even though like fifty girls wanted you to ask them.”

“I didn’t want to go to prom, I told you that,” Jean said, sweating a bit, worried that Connie would catch on. “I wasn’t interested in that sappy shit.”

Jean focused his attention on work after that, giving Connie the occasional piece of advice about Sasha, even though he didn’t really have any idea what he was talking about either. Especially when it came to  _ girls.  _

When they closed up, Connie offered him a lift home, but Jean chose to walk. Jean always walked if he could help it. He hadn't taken a jacket to work, but even at one in the morning he didn’t need one; the summer nights were long and hot. 

He wondered if Armin was still up. Armin had always slept weird, maybe his insomnia was playing up again. He could go over and check on him, maybe just see if any of the lights were on. He might be having another breakdown like he had the other day. 

But Jean didn’t go, even though Reiner was right and he  _ did _ really want to. 

He put the TV on when he got in, grabbing those leftovers from the fridge and sitting down on the couch. He turned up the volume on the TV just because Reiner wasn’t home and he could. He wasn’t even really watching - Jean actually started dozing off halfway through some old re-run.

But he jolted awake when the phone rang, sitting up and almost spilling what was left of his food. Who the hell was calling at this time? Jean was in half a mind to ignore it, to pick up the phone and immediately slam it back down, but - what if it was Armin?

Jean set down his food on the kitchen side and walked over to the phone nervously, panicking a bit. In his tiredness, he’d forgotten that Armin didn’t have their number. 

What would he say? Jean thought. Should he apologise for going off like that earlier in the week? Or would he hold his ground? 

“Hello?” He said, yawning. 

“Thank  _ god _ ,” A snappy woman’s voice came down the line. Jean blinked in surprise. That wasn’t what he was expecting. He was a bit disappointed. He could hear music and people laughing and singing in the background.

“Sorry, who is this?” Jean asked. 

“Annie Leonhardt,” she said. “You  _ are _ Jean, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, what-”

“Good. I need you to come and pick Reiner up,” she said, giving him her address. She and Bertholdt lived in the city, about an hour’s drive away. 

Jean’s gut immediately clenched. He was fully awake again now, and he was sweating. He couldn’t drive. Not that far. 

“I can’t,” he said quickly. “I just got home from work, and it’s late. Why can’t he stay with you?”

“Damned if I know,” Annie snapped, and there was a short scuffle before Reiner spoke. If you could call it that.

“Jean,” he slurred, “Jean, man, I neeeed you to come ‘n get me, hurry up.”

“Reiner? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Keys… keys are in the bowl,” Reiner said, barely understandable. “Take my car, come onn. Pleease.”

“Pass the phone back to Annie,” Jean said, and he did. 

“See? That’s all he’s saying. He’s making a fuss,” Annie said. She sounded tired, and a little drunk herself.

Shit. Jean  _ knew  _ there was something off about Reiner when he’d been talking about that party, but he didn’t know what it was. He sighed, balling his free hand into a fist. Reiner really needed him, by the sound of it. He seemed desperate, and Jean couldn’t just  _ leave _ him there. 

Driving all the way to the city, though? Jean hadn’t driven that far in  _ years.  _

But he had to do it. 

“Fine,” Jean said. “Tell me your address again, I’m on my way.”

* * *

 

It was the middle of the night, and Armin was awake. Couldn’t sleep. Sometime in the afternoon he’d fallen asleep on the sofa and messed up his sleeping pattern again, and now he was suffering because of it. 

Armin gave up on trying to sleep and padded downstairs. He sat in front of the TV, and watched aimlessly as he picked at a bag of chips, a cup of tea going cold beside him. He had the lights on in the living room, not caring if anyone wondered what he was doing up at this time of night. 

His parents were probably just getting up now, if he had the time zones right. It was a weird thought. Maybe Armin should have just asked to come along with them, even if he’d told himself in the past he wasn’t going to do that. At least he wouldn’t be here, then. 

The knock on the door made him jump. Who on earth…? Armin thought, slowly getting up and peering out of the window. Parked outside, its headlights on, was a car Armin was pretty sure he recognised from being in Reiner and Jean’s drive. 

So it was Jean? Armin ran his hands through his hair and quickly tied it back out of his face. It wasn’t like it could have been anyone else, really, except maybe kids playing a joke. A quick look through the peephole in the door confirmed it; that was definitely Jean, but why was he here?

Armin didn’t know what to do. His stomach was churning with nerves and a weird excitement that he tried to suppress. He could feel his curiosity getting the better of him, and maybe against his better judgement, opened the door. 

“Hey,” Jean said, scratching his head. Armin instantly noticed that he looked nervous.

“It’s like, almost two in the morning,” Armin said, furrowing his brows. “What’s going on?”

“I, uh, I have to drive up to the city. Reiner’s at some party and he drank too much, wants me to come get him. I saw your lights on as I was driving by. You… you wanna come with?”

“Oh,” Armin said, surprised. He looked back to the TV, and then to Jean. Jean had come over! He wanted him to come with him! Maybe he  _ didn’t  _ hate him, after all. Maybe this would all be fine. 

It wasn’t like Armin was going to be sleeping, and something in his gut told him to go. Armin never normally believed in gut instinct, but this time, he was just going to go for it. Fuck it. Why not?

“Let me go get dressed.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I got really excited about this chapter and wrote most of it today! Awkward car ride next time boys, I can't wait. Please let me know what you think!


	7. Here You Come Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fucking... friends,” Reiner spat. “Fuck that, no, I don’t wanna be friends.”
> 
> Armin stared out at the little reflective strips lining the road as it clicked into place. His stomach lurched.

It had been a very long time since Jean had driven down these country roads. It was pitch black out, even the stars and moon obscured by clouds that blocked out the whole sky. Despite all his nervousness, and how tense he was, there was an odd sense of familiarity in the way he drove around the twists and turns in the road, knowing where everything was despite not being able to see far past the headlights at all. 

They’d driven this route together more than a hundred times before, back in high school, heading off to their favourite spot down by the river, or taking day trips to the city, where they would get milkshakes and try not to get lost in all the chaos and bustle that they were so unused to. 

Jean had never told Armin, but he didn’t like the city all that much. It was so busy, so chaotic, and everything happening all at once always got Jean’s back up and made him feel tense. Armin always seemed to love it, though, which is why Jean kept his distaste hidden. Seeing that stupid happy smile on his face as they explored the city streets almost always made it worth it, anyway.

A foreign sense of discomfort came when Jean felt Armin’s eyes on him. He knew he was gripping the steering wheel too tight, and that there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and that his whole body was tensed up weirdly, but he didn’t know how to relax. If it were any louder Armin could probably hear how hard Jean’s heart was beating. And Jean knew Armin was catching on, that any second he was going to ask what the hell his problem was.

“You know I was on shift with Connie earlier,” Jean said, his mouth a bit dry. He needed to distract Armin. Fuck, he needed to distract _himself_. 

“Yeah?” Armin asked, turning his head to look out the window. 

“He finally got himself a date with Sasha.”

“He still hadn’t until now?” 

Jean saw Armin raise an eyebrow and he smiled a little bit. 

“Nope,” Jean said, turning his attention back to the road. “After… how many years? At least ten, anyway, he finally got the balls to ask her out.”

 _You’re one to talk,_ a nasty voice in Jean’s head said.

“What are they doing?”

“They’re going to that Italian place.”

“Lombardi’s?”

“That’s the one.”

“She’s going to eat him out of house and home,” Armin said, chuckling a little bit. “That place is _expensive_.”

“That’s what I said!” Jean exclaimed. “That girl can eat like a damn horse.”

“She’s coming for your title.”

“Don’t start with the horse bullshit again,” Jean groaned, but he was secretly a bit happy that Armin was teasing. “I thought I’d finally escaped that.”

“You’ll never escape it, it’s who you are,” Armin said. 

“Ha ha, very funny.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence, and some of the nausea in Jean’s stomach that had died down suddenly flared back up again. He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white and tried to keep his breathing normal as they merged onto the highway. 

“You know, I think Sasha might have told everyone I’m back,” Armin said, still looking out the window. “A bunch of people came to visit.”

Shit, Jean hadn’t even _thought_ about that. 

“I should have told her not to say anything,” Jean said, feeling bad. “Sorry.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Armin said. He shrugged. “Just reminded me how much I need to get my shit together.”

“Tell me about it,” Jean said. “At least you have a degree. Probably perfect grades, too, knowing you. Nerd.”

“Eh,” Armin said. Jean glanced over at him quickly. 

He was so fucking beautiful, it wasn’t fair. The streetlights they passed by illuminated his face for just a moment each, the warm orange light flashing intermittently. At a glance, Armin looked like he used to back in high school, and Jean caught a glimpse of the face he used to see every single day, the face he used to sneak looks at whenever he could. God, it made him feel like he was sixteen again. 

But Jean got a better look and saw how much Armin had changed. His face had filled out, and he’d lost his baby cheeks. The way his hair was long enough to be tied back as he had it right now looked good on him - really good - and Jean desperately wanted to tuck the few loose strands that had fallen out of the hair tie behind his ear. Armin was back and he was gorgeous and Jean couldn’t have him and it wasn’t _fair._

 _Eyes on the road_. 

“What d’you mean, _eh_?” Jean asked, managing to face forward this time. 

“I didn’t get perfect grades,” Armin admitted, kicking off his shoes and pulling his legs up on the seat. He _always_ did that. It was one of those little things Jean had forgotten about. “Far from it.”

“College must have been really hard, then, if even _you_ struggled, Mr 4.0,” Jean said. “And get your feet down.”

“It was. And come on, I always sit like this,” Armin said. 

“It’s not safe, just put your legs down,” Jean said, maybe a bit too harshly; he was getting tense and he didn’t like it at all. 

“Fine,” Armin pouted, taking his feet off the seat and putting his shoes back on. 

“Thank you,” Jean breathed a sigh of relief. 

It was awkward again. He’d made Armin feel weird and now it was tense and Armin probably didn’t want to be there and they wouldn’t see each other again for god knows how long. God, why was this so _hard?_ Jean thought back to what Reiner had said to him, about how it was going to be uncomfortable for a while until they got back into the swing of things. _Be a bro,_ or whatever it was he’d said. 

Reiner better thank him for being a bro right now and coming to get him. 

“But, uh, what happened with Reiner, anyway? He just drank too much?” Armin asked eventually.

“Dunno, he sounded totally miserable though,” Jean said, grateful that Armin had broken the silence. _Okay, this might be fine._ “I mostly just talked to that Annie girl, and she sounded pissed.”

“Oh, I remember her. Poor Reiner, if he’s on her bad side,” Armin said. 

“Right? Terrifying.”

Armin laughed a little. 

“She’s getting engaged to that tall guy? Bertholdt was his name, remember him?”

“Weird pair.”

“That’s what I said!”

Armin didn’t speak for a second, and Jean could tell he was thinking. “Was this their engagement party?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing,” Armin said slowly, then something out of the window distracted him. Jean didn’t realise why until he saw the turnoff down to their old hangout spot.

“You know, I almost expected you to turn right, there,” Armin said quietly. 

Maybe he was reaching, but Jean thought he sounded kind of wistful. 

Jean didn’t say anything, but his heart was beating even faster. He wanted to reach out and put his hand on Armin’s leg, but even if that wasn’t incredibly fucking weird, he had a hard time taking one of his hands off the wheel just to change gears. 

“We could always ditch Reiner and turn around,” Jean joked, his throat a bit dry.

“We can’t do that,” Armin said quietly, looking away from him. “But we could come back another time if you want?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Jean said. He could hear his heart in his ears. He hadn’t been there since Armin left. “Yeah, we could do that.”

Armin wanted to come back. He wanted to hang out! It was so much to take in, Jean almost couldn’t deal with it. 

“Remember prom night?”

A smile picked at Jean’s lips. How could he forget? “That was fun.”

It really had been fun. Looking back, Jean couldn’t think of a better night. They had ditched the whole event, choosing instead to drive off to their spot by the river, favouring the music Jean had put together on a mixtape than the sappy shit the radio was playing. Jean always drove too fast, and he’d made Armin yell by pushing the speed limit, and when they got down to their spot they parked up by the trees and sat on top of Jean’s car, sharing food and talking about everyone from school. 

Jean remembered how natural it had been back then, how there was never an awkward silence. They talked about all the couples, who’d finally worked up the courage to ask who and who was going to be prom king and queen. When it had dawned on them that they were probably the only two in the whole town who were alone on prom night, Jean had blushed, because he realised that they weren’t alone, not really. They had each other; always had, always would. Or so he thought, anyway. 

He had sprinted into the river as the sun was setting so Armin wouldn’t catch him staring or some shit like that. It got to a point where he couldn’t help but stare, sometimes, and he needed to do something stupid to distract him. It worked, anyway, even if he did get soaking wet.

“You got so freezing cold,” Armin laughed, finally looking up at him. 

Jean saw his smile, and he almost choked, his stomach twisting up in knots. Over the years he’d almost managed to forget about this cruel torture, having Armin so close and looking so beautiful and not being able to do anything about it. There was no river to jump into now. He coughed, trying to make himself look normal. This was all so much. 

“We nearly killed the battery in my car with that shitty little heater,” Jean said, hoping that Armin couldn’t see him blushing.

“I was really worried we were gonna be stuck there.”

“So was I, I was shitting myself. I think your mom would’ve killed me if I didn’t get you home.”

“Definitely,” Armin said, going to put his feet up on the seat again and stopping himself. He paused for a second, thinking again. “Why didn’t you want to go, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Prom,” Armin shrugged. “Someone like me, you can see it, why I wouldn’t want to go, but you? I thought you’d be all up for that. I was kind of surprised when you said we should ditch.”

“What?” Jean asked. “That’s stupid. You know I hate that stuff. All the dancing, and finding a _date_? Nah, fuck that. ‘Someone like me’. What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“You know,” Armin shrugged. “Girls were all over you. They don’t like me.”

“Well, obviously not,” Jean said, fingers gripping the wheel too hard again, thinking about Armin’s girlfriend. “Besides, I didn’t have time for all that in high school. Girls or whatever. I was busy.”

“Busy doing what?” Armin grinned. “Dicking about trying to solve that Rubik’s cube? Driving around and ditching school? Doesn’t sound that busy to me.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Jean snorted. He’d totally forgotten about that stupid Rubik’s cube that he’d never been able to get the hang of. God, he sat for hours with that thing, trying to do one side and giving up, then watching in awe as Armin solved the whole thing in a couple of minutes.

Armin laughed, rolling his eyes. He wondered if Jean was as nostalgic as he was, if he missed those times as desperately, wanted to just go back as badly as he did. God, the things he’d do differently given that chance. 

“You don’t regret not going?” Armin probed a little, just checking. He always felt bad about that, like he’d taken away some important life experience from Jean or something.

“If I wanted to go, I’d have gone, Armin.”

Armin couldn’t look at him when Jean said his name like that. In truth, Armin had always felt like he was holding Jean back, and prom night had been no exception. Why would Jean want to spend that evening with him, other than because he felt sorry for him? He should have asked one of the many girls who obviously liked him and gone and had a good time instead of… 

“I know you don’t believe me,” Jean said. Armin finally looked up at him but had to immediately turn away. “I told you, I’m not just saying it, Ar’. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

That hit Armin in the chest like a ton of bricks. Especially the nickname. Hearing Jean call him Ar’ _hurt._ Bad. Not as bad as knowing he was a liar, though. Of course Jean wouldn't lie. Jean was a good person. Unlike him. 

Part of Armin didn’t even want to believe that Jean had actually wanted to spend prom night with him. What should he infer from that if he did? Did best friends drive off to a secluded spot and look at the stars together on prom night? 

Armin’s heart said no, but his mind refused to let him believe it.

* * *

 

“I need you to get the map out of the glovebox,” Jean said when they reached the city, his voice tight and tense. There were a lot more cars on the road now, and he did not like it. 

“What am I looking for?” Armin asked, unfolding the map.

“Marley Street,” Jean said. His eyes were fixed on a blue Ford that was really testing the speed limit. 

Armin scanned the map, looking all over. 

“Got it,” he said, folding up the parts of the map he didn’t need and tracing the route with his finger. “Ten minutes away, I’d say?”

“Alright. Stay in the car when I go in, I’ll bring him back. Hopefully, he just sleeps. I really don’t want to deal with his drunk bullshit when I’m trying to drive.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

“No, he's just really annoying when he’s drunk.”

Armin tried to do a good job of directing Jean, even though he’d never learned to drive and had no idea what he was talking about a lot of the time. When they arrived, Armin slumped down in his seat. Music was playing out of the house and it made him nervous. He hated parties more than anything. He pushed some less-than-savoury memories from his mind and watched Jean was he wiped the sweat from his brow and got out of the car.

There was something really off about him. Armin could tell there was something was wrong, he just didn’t know how to ask what it was. 

He didn’t know how long had passed before the car door opened again, startling him, and Jean threw Reiner into the back of his own car. 

“Seatbelt on, big guy,” Jean said as he got back into the driver's seat, strapping himself in. 

“Can’t do it,” Reiner slurred. Armin looked back at him. He looked nothing short of awful. Had he been crying? His eyes were swollen, Armin could tell even in the dark. And there were spots of blood on his knuckles. “Just go.”

“No,” Jean said firmly. “Seatbelt.”

Armin watched awkwardly as Reiner fumbled with the belt; he was getting absolutely nowhere. Jean gave him a look and Armin slipped out of his seat and went around to the back, helping him pull the seatbelt over his chest and clicking it into place. He smelled of alcohol and it made Armin’s stomach churn with anxiety. _Don’t think about it. Don’t._

“You talked to, to him,” Reiner said, to Jean, noticing Armin after a moment. “You guys made up?”

Armin was taken aback. _Made up?_ Had Jean been talking about him?

“Stop talking,” Jean snapped, pulling away when Armin was back in his seat. He gestured with his elbow to a bottle of water on the ground. “Give him that.”

Reiner did quiet down for a second when he got the water. Armin watched him through the rearview mirror, as he slumped down in his seat and let his head rest against the window, fumbling with the cap on the bottle. Had he really just had too much to drink? It looked like something else was wrong. Really wrong, judging by the tears in his eyes. 

Armin didn’t think people like Reiner ever cried.

Nobody said anything until they got back onto the highway. Armin just fiddled with his sleeves, wishing he could curl his legs up on the seat just so he didn’t feel so uncomfortable. 

“What the hell was that about, then?” Jean asked. 

“Bert,” Reiner choked out, sounding like he was in physical pain.

“What about him?”

Reiner shook his head, eyes closed. 

“ _Reiner,_ ” Jean pressed. “What happened? Did you guys fight?”

“No,” Reiner said, his voice wobbling, barely intelligible. “Lost him.”

“What do you mean, you lost him?”

“To Annie?”

“Mmh.”

“Reiner, don’t be stupid. You can still go out and visit him whenever you want, Annie isn’t going to stop Bertholdt from having friends just because they’re getting married.”

“Fucking... _friends,_ ” Reiner spat. “Fuck that, no, I don’t _wanna_ be friends.”

Armin stared out at the little reflective strips lining the road as it clicked into place. His stomach lurched.

Reiner loved Bertholdt. 

Reiner was _gay._

It was painfully obvious to him now, but Jean wasn’t understanding and Armin didn’t know what to say. Should he change the subject? He felt like he was going to be sick. Reiner was gay. What if Jean freaked out? He silently prayed that Reiner wouldn’t say any more. 

“Why?” Jean prodded. “Did he piss you off?”

“No,” Reiner said, his voice cracking. Armin heard the raw hurt coming from him and it gripped his own heart in a vice. He silently begged him to stop, starting to panic. 

“Then what?”

_Don’t ask him that._

“Shouldn’t… can’t,” Reiner murmured. _Good_ , Armin thought. _Don’t tell him any more._

“You can tell me, man,” Jean said, his tone softening in a way that shocked Armin more than he cared to admit. He’d never heard Jean talk like that to anyone except him before. 

He hated how jealous that made him feel. 

“My fault,” Reiner said, not opening his eyes. “Said too much. Stupid.”

Jean waited for him to go on. 

“I told… him.”

“You’re not making _any_ sense, Reiner.”

“Pull oveer,” Reiner suddenly demanded, looking like he was going to be sick.

“We can’t, we’re on the middle of the highway-”

“Pull over!”

Jean looked desperately around. There was a group of cars right behind him, driving too fast, and Armin thought _Jean_ was going to be the one to throw up, judging by the look on his face. 

“Jean, it’s alright, just indicate and pull over,” Armin said, instinctively going to put a hand on his shoulder, but he pulled away as soon as they made contact because Jean flinched horribly, looking _terrified_. Armin’s gut clenched and he felt awful, not knowing what to do as Jean kept driving. 

The cars behind them were driving so fast and so close. 

“I’m gonna throw up,” Reiner mumbled, “Jean, please.”

“Will you just give me a fucking minute?” Jean yelled. “Do _not_ throw up!”  

Sheer panic gripped Armin at the sound of Jean’s shouting, and it was all he could do to not put his hands over his ears as Reiner and Jean started yelling at each other. After a few moments felt like an eternity each, the cars behind them sped by and Jean drove them to the side of the road. 

Both Jean and Reiner got out right away. Armin didn’t know what to do for a moment. What the hell was _that?_ Why was Jean freaking out so much? 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Reiner throwing up right into the grass. Armin shut his eyes, trying not to listen, but he was feeling sick himself and had to get out and breathe so he didn’t vomit. 

He didn't know who to go to. Jean looked like he’d seen a ghost, and Reiner was knelt in the grass, crying and throwing up.

By the time he made a choice and acted on it, both Armin and Jean were at Reiner’s side. Armin watched awkwardly and placed a hand on his back while Jean tried to stop him from getting vomit on himself. 

Reiner said something unintelligible between sobs. 

“Calm down first,” Jean said, handing him the water bottle again. 

“I _love_ him _,_ ” Reiner choked out angrily, bringing his fist down on the ground with no real force whatsoever. Armin had been right, and it made him feel even worse. He braced himself for what Jean was going to say. 

“Bertholdt?” Jean asked, his confusion tangible.

“Yeah,” Reiner said, slumping down on the ground, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He looked utterly defeated. “Yeah, I love him, shit.”

Armin was frozen still, not daring to say a word. Jean shot him a quick glance. 

“As more than a friend,” Jean prodded, wanting confirmation. 

“As more than _anything_ ,” Reiner slurred, making no sense. “I always loved him, I didn’t say anything… what was I supposed to say? I’ll go to the party, yeah, it’s fine, I want him to be happy, that’s all I want… it’s _bullshit._ I don’t want Annie to have him, _I_ want him, fuck…”

Jean wasn’t saying anything, and it was scaring Armin. He wasn’t looking at him, he hadn’t moved, and Armin couldn’t even decipher the look on his face. 

“Come on,” Jean said eventually, in that same soft voice from before, and lifted Reiner up onto his feet. “Let’s get you home.”

Armin felt like his heart was about to explode. Jean didn’t mind? He didn’t care? Hope sparked in his chest but he stamped it out before he could let himself get carried away. He had to be logical about this. Couldn’t jump to conclusions. 

Jean managed to get Reiner back into the car, the only thing he could think was ‘ _holy shit.’_ Jean had no idea Reiner was like him. He’d never been able to guess - Reiner had girlfriends before, and he wasn’t shy about bringing them back home. So he liked men too? Or maybe it was just Bertholdt? Jean could relate to that; he’d never been interested in anyone other than Armin. But either way, there was someone else who was… who was the same as him and he’d been _living_ with him all this time without even realising? Everything suddenly made sense. Why Reiner had been so off about the party, why he hadn’t wanted to go. 

_‘Lost him.’_

The words echoed through Jean’s mind. They were all too familiar, and the fact that he could feel Armin staring at him only served as a reminder. It scared Jean. He’d just gotten Armin back. He couldn’t lose him again. 

Reiner slumped over, passed out in the backseat, so Jean did up his seatbelt for him and got in the drivers side. Armin was sat beside him, turned to the side, staring out the window.

Neither of them had any idea what to say, so Jean drove in silence. 

What did Armin think about this? He had barely reacted, yet if Jean knew anything about Armin it was that Armin’s brain was probably going haywire. What he wouldn’t give to know what he was thinking.

And fuck, he felt sorry for Reiner. Jean knew he’d be in a terrible state, too, if Armin was getting married. It was bad enough that he had a girlfriend in college, but having to watch it happen? No wonder he’d gotten drunk. Jean would have done the same. 

It was almost four in the morning by the time they got back, and Reiner was still out cold. Jean couldn’t believe he’d managed the drive, and after he parked up he leaned forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, just focusing on breathing. They were back. And now he needed to get Reiner into bed. 

“Rein,” Jean said, shaking him to wake him up. “Come on. Bed.”

Armin didn’t get out of the car, he just watched Jean as he half-dragged Reiner into their house. What was now? Was he supposed to go home? His body was tired, but his mind was still buzzing from the revelation. He wondered if he should get out and help, but Jean looked like he had it. 

For what felt like forever he picked at his fingernails, a nervous habit he’d never been able to kick. Would they talk about it? Or would it go unmentioned, like it never happened? Armin didn’t know which would be worse. 

“Are you just going to sit there?” Jean rapped on the passenger side window with his knuckles, startling Armin. 

“Maybe,” Armin pouted, but he got out, taking his hair down and running his fingers through it. 

Another weird pause. 

“How is he?” Armin asked, testing the waters. 

“Asleep,” Jean said. “He’s going to be a pain in the ass to deal with when he wakes up.”

He walked over and sat on the front porch steps, and Armin followed, sitting a decent way away from him, just to make sure they wouldn’t bump into each other or touch or accidentally do anything else that would make his heart hurt. 

“He’ll be alright,” Armin said quietly, thinking. He hoped it was true. 

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.”

“Are _you_ alright, though?”

Jean narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“You seemed really tense earlier.” Armin shrugged. “In the car.”

“Oh, that?” Jean said, lying back on the porch and looking up at the clouds. The sky was a little lighter, like the sun was just about to come up. It was still warm, and the crickets were chirping from the trees behind them. “I’m just not used to driving Reiner’s car, that’s all.”

“What happened to your car?”

“Sold it,” Jean said. Armin turned around and looked at him, analysing his expression. He couldn't read it. “Needed the money.”

“Oh,” Armin said. He didn’t know why that made him so sad. All those memories, gone. But it was stupid to be sentimental. He was the one who left, after all. He didn’t get to miss these things; it was his own fault. 

He lay down as well, yawning, still picking at the skin on his fingers.

“You can’t have gotten that much for it,” Armin grinned a bit, trying to lighten the mood. “It was kind of a pile of junk.”

“How _dare_ you speak about her like that?!” Jean said, laughing. “My car was far from a pile of junk, she was gorgeous.”

“It was always breaking!”

“She just needed a bit of help,” Jean insisted. 

“A lot of help, more like.”

Jean’s laughter rang through the air. 

“We should go inside,” he said, smiling. 

“I like it out here. I’m too tired to move.”

“Honestly, same here,” Jean said, stretching. He paused for a moment, and Armin could tell he was thinking about something. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing, really… it’s just weird. I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Armin asked quietly. 

Jean sighed. They weren’t looking at each other. Armin was staring at the mailbox just so he could focus on something. 

“I don’t know, I can’t describe it. It’s like one minute, nothing’s changed. Then the next it feels like everything from before was a million years ago.”

“I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Armin said, letting out a long breath. “I really… It’s not how I thought it would be, coming back.”

“No?”

“I didn’t think you’d be here, for one. Really.”

Jean shrugged. “Good thing I was.”

“You mean that?”

“Yeah, look at you,” Jean said, propping himself up on one arm and then poking him in the ribs. “So skinny. You probably wouldn’t have even left the house to get food if I hadn’t dragged you out.”

“You might be right,” Armin said. The sky was starting to turn pink on the horizon. 

“Duh. I’m always right.”

Armin snorted at that, and finally looked up at Jean, who was still leaning over him. 

Everything went quiet. 

What was that look on Jean’s face? Why was he staring at him like that? Armin didn’t know what was happening. All he could hear was his heart beating in his ears. Jean was just looking at him, breathing slowly, not blinking. His eyes were shining, lips slightly parted. It wasn't normal for friends to be this close, was it?

Why did it feel like Jean was about to kiss him? 

Something twisted in his gut. _Don’t be fucking stupid, Armin._

They pulled away at the same time, and Armin felt like all the breath had been knocked out of his lungs.

“I should go home,” Armin said, scratching his head. His chest hurt. 

“Yeah. Get some rest.”

"You too."

"Want me to walk you?"

"Nah, I'll be alright."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I’m good."

Armin stood up and turned to go. 

"Armin?"

"Yeah?"

“Thanks. For coming with me.”

Armin might have been imagining it, but he thought he heard pain in his voice. 

“It’s not a problem, Jean. See you later.”


	8. Standstill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Armin?” A familiar voice asked. Armin looked up, recognising it immediately. 
> 
> “Mr Smith?” He asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!!
> 
> Sorry it's been a little while since I updated, I was completely swamped working on all the prompts for Jearmin Week (which was so much fun!) and then I hit a little bit of a block, but I'm back and I hope you enjoy!

On Sunday afternoon, when Reiner drearily walked into the living room, Jean was still stirring on the couch. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. The drive and everything that happened with Armin had sapped all the energy out of Jean, not to mention how he’d not fallen asleep until around five that morning. 

“Afternoon,” Jean groaned, rubbing his eyes. 

Reiner looked surprised to see him on the couch, but didn’t say anything, just went to the fridge and downed some orange juice straight from the carton. 

“That’s fucking gross,” Jean said, and Reiner visibly flinched before brushing him off. 

The silence between them was so uncomfortable that Jean almost wanted to leave the room just to escape it. Was he supposed to say something? Come clean to Reiner about him, too, and tell the whole truth about how he felt for Armin? Jean knew that would probably make Reiner feel a lot better, but something stopped him from being able to. The words shrivelled up and died on his tongue when he tried to speak them. Surely there was _something_ he could say, though - just to make it less painfully awkward. 

“About last night-” Jean started, but Reiner cut him off.

“I was so drunk,” he said, not looking at Jean at all, instead fixing some coffee for them both. “I don’t remember a thing since the party. Did Annie phone you to ask you to come pick me up or something?”

Jean paused. So Reiner wanted to play it that way, pretend it hadn’t happened? It made sense. That was probably what Jean would have done too.

“Yeah,” Jean said, sitting up. “Yeah, I think the other guys wanted to stay and couldn’t drop you back. So I came out and got you.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you one,” Reiner said, his back still turned to Jean. Jean could see the tension in his shoulders from the way he was holding himself. All hunched forwards and uncomfortable. 

But what was he supposed to say?

“Don’t mention it,” Jean said, taking the coffee Reiner handed him. “Just cover a shift for me sometime and we’re even.”

Reiner nodded, grateful, and deflated onto one of the chairs. “I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit, to be fair.”

“And you look like the picture of health,” Reiner said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah, I always look good.”

Reiner just laughed and rolled his eyes. Sipped his too-hot coffee and winced. “You talked to him then?”

“What?” 

“Armin. I vaguely remember him being there.”

“Oh, right,” Jean said, turning away. He couldn’t stop thinking about how close they had been that morning, how Jean had nearly exposed everything he’d tried so hard to hide and kissed him right there on the porch. “Yeah, we talked.”

“Did you tell him how you felt?” 

Jean nearly spat out his coffee. “ _What?”_

“About him coming back and being all weird?”

“Oh, right,” Jean said. Of course that was what he meant. “Sort of?”

“Did you or not?”

Jean shrugged, a bit defensive. “Yeah. I didn’t tell him everything, but I think he finds it weird too.”

“‘Course he does,” Reiner said. “He’s not been here in, what? Four years?”

Jean sighed, felt the weight of all that time resting heavy on his shoulders. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Four years.”

* * *

 

A week passed, and slowly, Armin was beginning to find it easier to leave the house. The hardest part was walking out of the door and opening himself up to the countless number of ways things could go wrong. It felt so much safer to stay indoors where he knew he was safe, where he had all the control over his environment and he didn’t have to worry about anyone throwing a spanner in the works. 

Once he got outside it was easier. He came at the situation with a scientific mind. That was how he coped, telling himself that all his thoughts and wild speculations weren’t logical. 

He couldn’t be found here. 

Each step down the street eased his anxieties. They never went away, not fully - just sat, almost content, in the pit of his stomach, twisting every so often just to remind Armin they existed. 

He was on his way to the library. All the books he had at home were too nostalgic; when he tried to read them, Armin found himself lost in thoughts of his childhood, remembering the dreams he had back then, the hours spent lost in his own head. 

Thinking of Jean. 

There was a time in Armin’s life when he didn’t know Jean. In high school, when they were at their closest, Armin couldn’t believe he’d existed without his best friend at his side. But, yeah, there had been a time. 

And it had sucked. 

Armin was six. He was still too young to have realised he was weird, that he wasn’t like all the other boys in his class. Too caught up in fiction, even then, dreaming up stories and reading books. He wasn’t interested in TV or sports or race cars, and it had come as a big surprise when the others honed in on him for being different. He ignored the bullies when they picked on him. He never fought back. He was weak anyway, and wouldn’t trying to fight just be giving them what they wanted? Armin just lived inside his own imagination, and he told himself that was enough - but he always wondered what it would be like to have a friend, someone to share his ideas with. Even at such a young age, admitting to himself that he was lonely scared him. 

Armin remembered that one day, his neighbour from across the street had set his sights on him and decided that they were going to be friends, and that was that. Armin was wary at first. He didn’t want to get his hopes up for it to turn out to be some cruel joke, but when Jean was with him, people tended to leave them alone. His bullies kept their distance. Jean was brash and loud and he talked a _lot_ , but Armin grew to like him. 

By that summer, they were inseparable. One would rarely be seen without the other. They did everything together, and Armin remembered feeling like he was walking on air. Jean teased him, sure, but he liked listening to what he had to say. He thought his ideas were cool. They rode their bikes down to the river and paddled in the water, pretending they were at the beach. There was always a place at the dinner table for Jean at their house. _You’re part of the family,_ his mother would say. She was just delighted that Armin finally had a friend, even if he was a bit rough around the edges. 

The memories were bittersweet, Armin thought, as he pushed open the heavy door to the library. A sudden wave of nostalgia crashed into him that nearly knocked him over. 

It was a small library for a small town with an even smaller number of readers. Armin had spent countless hours here over his life. The library had remained the same throughout that whole time and it was the same now. The same smell, the same old chairs, the same dusty shelves stocked full with books that were rarely touched. It was overwhelming in its familiarity. Everything was the same except him. Once again, he was the one that was different, and it was enough to make him feel like an alien in the place he’d once called home. 

Over in the far right corner, someone was sitting in his chair. It was an old, worn, green armchair that was big enough for him to be able to curl his legs up onto if he took his shoes off. The other regulars at the library knew he liked to sit there, and it was always left for him. He shouldn’t have been bothered that someone was sitting there. He’d been gone for four years. It was just a chair; it really didn’t matter. 

It made him feel like shit. Armin couldn’t quite put his finger on what bothered him so much about it, and that annoyed him too. It wasn’t logical to get so worked up over a seat that wasn’t his anymore. _He_ was the one who left. He went to college. What should he have expected? That nobody would sit there ever again? He felt like a child who didn’t get his own way. Something his mother always said came back to him. _You can’t have your cake and eat it too._

Armin sat down on the other side of the room, his back to his old spot so he didn’t keep staring at the person sat there. He sighed. He was supposed to come here to get away from his nostalgia, but all he could think about was Jean - how they’d come here sometimes to do homework, and end up having to leave because Jean found it impossible to whisper. How Armin would come to check out a stack of books and Jean would wait outside and carry them home. The hours they’d spent working on school projects together. 

There was a weird feeling in his stomach and Armin wasn’t sure if he loved or hated it. It toed the line between excitement and anxiety. Why couldn’t he escape these thoughts? Why was it _always_ Jean? 

“Armin?” A familiar voice asked. Armin looked up, recognising it immediately. 

“Mr Smith?” He asked. His favourite high school teacher was standing right in front of him. He looked like he was in a rush. 

“I thought that was you,” he said. He had a smile that always put Armin at ease for some reason. “But please, call me Erwin. We’re not at school anymore.”

“Oh, I -” Armin cleared his throat, tried again, awkwardly. “Erwin.”

It felt completely alien. Like it was against the rules. 

“I had heard rumours about you being back,” Erwin said. “I didn’t realise they were true. How have you been? You did well at college, I trust?”

Armin hoped how much he was cringing wasn’t visible on his face. How was he supposed to say that he’d not gotten the perfect grades everyone had been expecting from him? 

“I just graduated,” he said, nodding. Erwin didn’t need to know how well he’d done. He could get away with pretending, couldn’t he? “And I’ve been well, thank you. Are you still teaching?”

“Yes, I am,” Erwin said with a tired smile, and gestured to the stack of papers he was holding. “I would like to catch up, but these need marking by tonight and I really should be going home so I can get them done.”

“Of course,” Armin said, suddenly aware of how stiff and awkward he sounded. _Why are you always like this?_ He asked himself. 

“We’ll have to meet sometime,” he said. “Are you living at your parents’? Same address?”

Armin nodded, embarrassed. “Yes, I am.”

“Perfect,” Erwin nodded. “I remember. I’ll drop by sometime, if that’s alright with you. There’s actually something I’d quite like to talk to you about.”

That was like a knife in Armin’s gut. His anxiety spiked. 

“That’s fine,” he lied.

“Alright, I’d better be going, then,” Erwin said, gesturing to his papers again, and nodding. “I’ve missed my favourite student, you know. Good to see you back, Armin.”

“Thank you, Mr Smi- Erwin.”

Armin watched him leave, uncomfortable for more reasons than he could explain. _Favourite student._ No, he didn’t like that at all. It only reminded him of the student he’d been, once. Back when he wasn’t like _this._

* * *

 

It was early evening and Jean had just finished his shift at the bar. He was hanging back for a while, sitting at the bar to finally hear about how Connie’s date with Sasha went the night before. It always felt odd to sit on this side of the counter, Jean thought.

“How was it, then?” He asked. 

“Yeah, how bad was the dent she put in your wallet?” Reiner said. He’d been off for the past week, and Jean knew why, but they still hadn’t talked about it. Reiner was pretending it never happened and Jean let him. He sounded sad all the time, but Jean thought he was probably listening for things that weren’t really there, like confirmation bias, or something. 

“Not as bad as I thought it would be, actually,” Connie laughed, leaning against the bar, not noticing or just ignoring that the bowl of peanuts needed to be refilled. “But that’s not what I was worried about. I’ve been saving up for this for _years_.”

“As you’ve told us, about fifty times,” Reiner said, rolling his eyes. 

“Tell us how it went, though, come on,” Jean said, leaning over the bar to poke Connie in the chest. “Did you kiss her or what?” 

“I might have,” Connie said proudly. 

Jean and Reiner _ooh’d_ at him in unison, then turned to each other and laughed. Jean felt eyes lingering on him. 

“A kiss on the _cheek_ , or did you grow some balls and kiss her properly?” Reiner teased. 

“Hang on,” Connie said, turning around to serve someone. They waited patiently for him to finish. 

“Five bucks says it was on the cheek,” Jean said to Reiner. 

“You’re on.”

“Anyway, what was I saying?” Connie said when he turned back to them.  

“You kissed her.”

“Ah, right, yeah, but that was at the end! Let me start from the beginning,” Connie huffed. 

“Come on, skip the boring part and get to the action.”

“No, let him tell it,” Jean laughed. “How long have you been crushing on her? Like eight years? It’s only fair that after all this time we get the full story.”

“Yeah, do you have any idea what it’s like to love someone for that long?” Connie asked, glaring at them both. 

 _If only you knew,_ Jean thought bitterly to himself. How long had he loved Armin? It felt like forever. 

“No idea, man,” Reiner said. If Jean didn’t know for a fact that he was lying he probably wouldn’t have been able to tell. 

“Alright,” Connie said, looking between them both. “So I pick her up at seven…”

Jean almost started to zone out as Connie described his night. It wasn’t like he didn’t care - Jean had been hyping Connie up to ask Sasha out for about as long as he’d liked her, and he’d spent the whole last week giving him advice. He just couldn’t help but let his mind wander, thinking about a world where he could take Armin out on a date. 

Maybe they would go to some Italian restaurant, or Jean would take him to see a movie. Jean imagined what it would be like to put his arm around Armin and pull him close as they watched, their knees touching. He would brush his hair out of his face and kiss him as he’d always dreamt of doing, and then they’d go back to Armin’s place and -

Jean shook his head, forcing those thoughts from his mind. He couldn’t get distracted like that now. He had to focus. 

“And I asked her if she wanted dessert, and she said _no_ , and I was like wait, what?” Connie was saying, gesturing wildly with his hands. 

“Sasha turned down dessert. _Sasha._ Con, are you sure it was actually her?” Reiner asked. 

“Of course I am! Let me finish!” Connie protested. “Anyway, so I ask her if she’s sure, and she says she is. That she’s got ice cream back at her place. And I didn’t really know what she was getting at, I thought she was just being nice, but she was _inviting me over._ ”

“You are such a dumbass,” Jean scoffed. 

Connie flashed him a grin. 

“So we went back to her place,” he continued, and she got changed into a t-shirt and pyjama shorts, you know those ones she has with the ducks on them?”

“Why on earth would I know that?” Reiner asked. Connie laughed and shook his head. 

“I don’t know man, I'm getting all worked up just thinking about it - anyway - we were sat on the couch, and we’re sharing this tub of ice cream. I’m like, full, I have no idea how she’s still hungry, but she is and when she offers to feed me some I can’t just say _no-”_

“God, you’re gross,” Jean said. 

“And she smiles at me and I don’t know, I can’t even describe it. It sounds stupid - I just got kind of like,” he lowered his voice so only they could hear him. “Emotional?”

“How so?” Reiner said. He was holding a pint glass so tightly Jean thought it was going to shatter. His knuckles were white. He was holding tension in his whole body, but his face was normal. _How does he do that?_

“She just looked so much like _Sasha_ like that. She looked amazing when we were at the restaurant, but just seeing her like that on the couch, it just reminded me of old times, back in high school and stuff. It was… it was really nice.”

Connie coughed a little and shook his head before going on. 

“So she sees me looking at her like that, and she asks what’s up, and I just - I just kissed her.”

Jean leaned over the bar and clapped him on the shoulder. “Congrats, man. Finally.”

“That’s what she said right after too, and I went to say the same thing but I still had that fucking ice cream in my mouth and it went _everywhere_ ,” Connie laughed, making Jean and Reiner snort. 

“Did you kiss her properly after that?” Reiner asked. 

“Yeah, was it just a peck or what?”

“It was just a peck,” Connie said, shaking his head. Jean gave Reiner a look that said _I win._ “If I’m honest… I was kind of scared to try again just in case I fucked it up. I didn’t want to be too much, you know? Tell her everything and ruin it all. I don’t know, it’s kind of creepy, isn’t it? To confess to your best friend that you’ve been in love with her since you were kids?” 

There was a loud _bang_ as Reiner slammed the glass down on the counter. The whole of the bar went quiet, looking over, and the few seconds of silence felt like an eternity before everyone went back to their conversations, realising it was nothing. 

“Sorry,” Reiner grunted, not looking at either of them. Jean hadn’t felt this uncomfortable in years. Reiner looked awful. “Sorry, my hand slipped. Go on.”

“Nah, it’s good, that was it, really,” Connie said, shaking his head and brushing off his concern, not noticing things that Jean did about Reiner, like how his face had gone red and how his hands were shaking. 

“Well, man, you finally did it,” Jean said, still looking at Reiner out of the corner of his eye. He knew. He knew, at least a little, how he felt. 

Except he really didn’t. Jean’s feelings were still locked up tightly inside of him and after seeing what Reiner had gone through they were going to stay there. He didn’t want to get rejected, didn’t want to lose Armin’s friendship for a second time. He didn’t think he could face that. 

Finally deciding to get home, Jean nodded goodbye to his co-workers and headed off. It was evening, but the summer sun shone in the sky, still beaming down and casting the town in a light that made everything look prettier than it was. 

Jean was happy for Connie. He really was. He and Sasha had been pining over each other for years, and they deserved to be happy together, there was no doubt about it. But there was a twisting jealousy inside himself that he didn’t like, not one bit. He wanted what they had.

And Jean could probably have it. Girls slipped him their numbers at the bar quite a lot, but he never called. It wasn’t as if they weren’t pretty, or even that they weren’t nice. It was just that even after all this time, Jean wanted Armin. Maybe it was unhealthy, even borderline stupid to keep wanting him. Armin left. Armin left, and he’d lost interest when he went to college, met people who could keep up with him intellectually, probably. Met his girlfriend. 

Jean bet she was smart. Armin probably liked smart girls. Maybe she was even more clever than Armin was. Someone that could hold her own against him in chess, someone that could solve a Rubik’s Cube even faster than he could. Someone to have long, drawn-out conversations with about topics that interested him. 

Not someone that encouraged him to ditch class, or skip prom, or sit around doing nothing with. They probably sat in the library together and studied, stayed up late to write papers, watched the quiz shows that Armin always liked. He wondered if they sat on the couch in their pyjamas and ate ice cream. His favourite flavour was pistachio. Did she know that? Jean sighed. In the end, that didn’t matter. Armin had, for a time, found someone that suited him. She was a girl. 

And she wasn’t Jean. 

No wonder Armin was so heartbroken, coming back to this place. He’d had a taste of something different but now he was back here and it was over, back to the same old familiar faces that he’d been so desperate to escape. Jean was probably a depressing reminder of how little this town had changed. He was surprised Armin didn’t resent him for it. 

Jean looked up from the sidewalk and almost did a double-take when he saw Armin on the other side of the street. Despite everything, his legs moved towards him, and he called his name. 

“Armin!” He jogged over to him and fell into step by his side. He couldn’t help himself. 

“Oh, hey,” Armin said. He looked surprised to see him. He was carrying a big bag of books that looked too heavy for him. “You on your way to work?”

“On the way back,” Jean said, reaching over and taking Armin’s bag from him. 

“I had those,” Armin protested, trying to take the bag back, but Jean held it out of his reach. He scowled. “You’re so annoying.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Jean said, grinning. 

“Fair,” Armin countered, offering a small smile that made Jean feel like he was on fire. “I went to the library.”

“How was it?” 

“Not bad, I guess. I ran into Mr Smith. He wants to talk to me about something, I think he’s going to come over, so I need to clean the place up properly.”

“Need a hand with that?” Jean asked, a bit too quickly. 

“Are you sure?” Armin looked surprised. “There’s a lot to do.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jean said. “Just give me a call. I gave you our number, right?”

“No, not yet. Did I give you the house one? Or do you remember it still?”

“Probably not, it’s been… you know. Ages,” Jean said, scratching his head.

Of course he remembered Armin’s phone number. What kind of question was that? 

“Right, yeah,” Armin said sadly. Jean hated himself. “Of course. Sorry, yeah.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Jean said with a wave of his hand. 

Armin pulled a weird face, then, one of his expressions Jean couldn’t decipher. He felt guilty for bringing up how long it had been. _Idiot._

They walked together for a while and eventually got to the end of the road where they had to split up. Jean reluctantly handed the bag back. He would have carried it home for him, but that would have been fucking clingy. Armin grimaced at the weight as he held it but didn’t complain.

“I don’t have any paper to write your number on,” he said rifling around in his bag for a pen, which he found and pulled out. He passed it to Jean and held out his arm. “Just write it on my hand, and I’ll do mine, too.”

 _Fuck._ Saying no would be weird, but Jean was blushing. He tried not to give away that he was shaking when he took Armin’s hand and held it still while he popped the cap off the pen. His hands were softer than he’d imagined they’d be. It made Jean’s heart race and his ears feel hot. 

He wrote his number with wobbly handwriting and tried not to think about it too much, then held out his hand. He made a point not to look at Armin as he wrote the number he already knew on his skin, and when he was done, pulled back a little too fast, looking down at the neatly written digits.

Yep, remembered it alright. Jean didn’t know why that made his heart hurt so much. He thought about Reiner. He hoped he was doing alright there, at the bar with lovestruck Connie. 

“I guess I’ll see you later, then?” Armin asked, looking up at him. 

“Yeah. Drop me a call, I should be able to come over as long as I’m not working. We’ll get the place spotless.”

“Thanks, Jean.”

Jean loved the way his name sounded when Armin was the one that said it. 

“No worries. Saves me some boredom, anyway. See you later, Ar.”

Armin waved as he crossed the road and Jean had to force himself not to run after him, insist on coming over for a drink. Clingy. He tried not to turn back and watch him as he walked away. Connie’s words echoed in his mind as his feelings threatened to take over.

_It’s kind of creepy, isn’t it?_

Yeah, Jean thought. Yeah, it probably was. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I had some questions for you guys. Is anyone interested in seeing a subplot for Reiner? I have something in mind, but I don't want to go on a big tangent if nobody is really interested in his story, and would rather just see the Jearmin. Let me know, come shout at me on tumblr @vidnyia if you want to! 
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to read what I did for Jearmin week, you can find all my fics here https://archiveofourown.org/series/1446361 . I did every prompt! (somehow). 
> 
> But again thank you so so much for reading and hopefully the wait wont be as long for the next update! I'm having a blast writing this so far. Please let me know what you think, your comments always make my day!!! -vid


	9. Pair of Weirdos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Weirdo.”
> 
> “You only just noticed?"
> 
> Jean snorted at that and leaned back, spreading his long limbs out on the couch. “Nah. But that’s why I like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter contains a description of a burn.

Armin lay in bed, waiting for his alarm to go off. He didn’t know why he even bothered to set it. When was the last time he’d woken up later than seven? He couldn’t remember. But there was something nerve-wracking about _not_ having an alarm set on a day he was actually supposed to be doing something, just in case. Armin liked to be sure of things. Maybe a little too much sometimes, but he had always thought that was better than not caring _enough_. 

Jean was coming over to help him clean up the house that afternoon. At first, Armin hadn’t wanted to ask, but he didn’t know if he could do it all alone before Erwin came to visit the next day. And… he wanted to see Jean, too. Armin missed him all the time. He always wanted to call, always wanted to invite him over, but what would he _say_? The first step was always the hardest, and most of the time Armin couldn’t bring himself to take it. 

When his alarm went off he turned it off right away and got up. Showered. Dressed. He thought about eating breakfast and made a cup of tea instead. He got lost in his thoughts, not even realising that it was going cold. When he found it, later, Armin poured it down the sink. He hadn’t wanted it anyway.

What was Erwin going to think of him? Would he be disappointed in Armin for switching his major, for not doing as well as he hoped? Armin didn’t know why he agreed to this. He wanted to cancel, but that would make him look even worse. Really, Armin just wished there was some way to go back in time, to preserve the image of himself before he left for college and changed for the worse in every way. To pretend that he was still the person he was back then. Armin Arlert, top of the class with a 4.0 and almost perfect attendance, president of the chess club. 

But most importantly, Jean Kirstein’s best friend. 

He wanted to be that Armin again. 

* * *

 

Jean arrived a little late. When Armin opened the door, he had a bag of groceries.

“I bought stuff to make dinner later,” he said, walking past Armin into the house before he’d even said anything. “Sorry I’m late, Sasha was talking my ear off.”

Armin followed him into the kitchen. Jean wasn’t any louder than he normally was, but Armin was so used to the quiet in his house that this was overwhelming. He watched as Jean set the bag on the countertop and started putting the food into his fridge. It was like Jean felt more at home here than Armin did. That was probably true. 

“Let me pay you back,” Armin said, reaching for his pocket. He felt bad. Jean always did things like this. 

“Don’t be stupid, Armin, it’s fine,” Jean said like his kindness was no big deal, and Armin felt heat crawl up his cheeks. “How many times did your family let me eat here?” 

“Still…”

“No, seriously. We don’t keep track of that stuff, you know that.”

He was right. They had always made a point to not keep score of who paid for what. Armin had forgotten that. How many other things did he not remember? He shook his head. Tried not to think about it. 

“Well, next time, let me pay, then.”

“Oh, next time?” Jean asked with a grin. 

Armin couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“How have you been?” His voice came out weird. _The awkwardness will fade,_ he told himself. _Don’t worry. It just takes a little while to get used to him being there, you know that._

“You know how it is,” Jean said, bending down under the sink to look at what cleaning supplies Armin had. “Still looking for that second job.”

“No luck?” 

Jean sighed. “Nope. How about you? You feeling better about… things?”

Armin blanched. _It’ll go back to normal soon._

What even was normal for them anymore?

“Yeah,” he lied. “Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better.”

“Good,” Jean said, standing up. Armin was glad he’d gotten out of that question easily. He didn’t like lying, especially not to Jean, making up this imaginary girlfriend. But he had to. 

“Do you, uh, do you want a drink?” Armin asked. “Before we get started? Coffee?”

“I’m good for now, thanks. But can you put the radio on? It’s so quiet in here, I don’t know how you stand it.”

“Sure,” Armin said. He wanted to make a drink for himself, just to have something to focus on that wasn’t Jean in his house, but he felt awkward being the only one to have one for some unknown reason. He just went to the radio and turned it on to a random station. 

“Alright,” Jean said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

* * *

 

Armin threw himself into the work, feeling more motivated than he had in a long time. With Jean telling him what to do, as he’d taken charge, for the most part, Armin focused on cleaning to distract from the pressure of not knowing what to say. Jean delegated the less strenuous tasks to Armin while he did the bulk of the moving and lifting of things. To Armin, it felt like Jean knew he was nervous and kept him busy on purpose so he wouldn’t have to worry. Armin appreciated that. 

They moved the couches and vacuumed underneath them, cleaned the carpets and washed all of the windows, dusted the curtains and organised the cupboard under the stairs. Jean sang along to the radio, loud and obnoxious in a way Armin found strangely comforting. Jean wasn’t that bad a singer, but it was moreso having the presence of another person in the house that made Armin realise how scarily used he had gotten to being alone. If it were anyone but Jean, Armin probably wouldn’t have felt the same. But Jean knew him just well enough to know what would make him uncomfortable, and he didn’t toe the line or push his boundaries. Armin wondered if he knew what he was doing, or if that just came naturally to him. 

They had just finished cleaning the tops of the cabinets in the kitchen when Jean decided they should take a break. Armin hopped down off the counter, throwing the cloth into the sink, and tapped his foot absent-mindedly while he waited for the next song to start playing. 

“I’ll have that drink now, if you’re still offering,” Jean said, running his hands through his hair. 

“Yeah, alright,” Armin said. He felt a lot more at ease, just like he knew he would. He hated how worked up he got even though he logically _knew_ it was going to be fine. It always was. But that never stopped his brain from going haywire before.

He went to fill up the kettle and set it on the stove, smiling a little to himself. Despite everything, he felt alright, for the most part. He wasn’t particularly anxious, just… there was a twist in his gut every time he saw Jean and his heart was beating a little quicker than normal, but it wasn’t _bad._ Kind of nice, actually, in a strange way. 

As the kettle started to whistle, the next song came on the radio.

And Armin’s entire body went cold.

* * *

 

_The music is loud at the college party. It makes Armin’s ears hurt and he wonders why he’s even there. Parties have never been his thing. But he’s shown up and he wants to at least try to socialise before he goes home and curls up with a good book. He doesn’t have any friends here._

_He sees his roommate sitting beside a freckled boy with kind eyes and a small smile. They’re deep in conversation. Armin doesn’t want to disturb them, even if his roommate is the only person he recognises. It’s fine. He can make friends, right?_

_How do you do that again?_

_Armin shakes his head. He misses his friends. He misses Jean. But it’s only been a few weeks since he left, of course he’s going to be homesick. That will fade. He’ll meet new people. He just has to give it time._

_Someone taps him on the shoulder and Armin spins around, nervous. There’s a redhead in front of him holding two bottles of beer._

_And the music is so loud._

* * *

 

“Armin?” Jean asked, but Armin barely heard him. Why this particular song was affecting him so much he didn’t know. Why was this bringing back so many memories? 

Armin picked up the kettle to stop its shrill whistling, in a complete daze, his hands shaking violently as the radio kept playing. 

“Please turn that off,” he mumbled, staring at the mugs on the countertop. What was he doing again? He couldn’t focus. 

Jean didn’t make any move to turn off the radio. The song kept playing on, a surreal reminder of the night that had begun everything. Jean walked towards Armin instead, wanting to take the kettle out of his shaking hands. He reached out to him and touched his arm. “What the hell is going on?” 

“Nothing!” Armin snapped, the touch scaring him, and he pulled away with a sudden movement that sent the hot water from the kettle spilling out all over his hand and up his wrist. He dropped the kettle, recoiling in pain and yelling out as Jean shouted _‘fuck!_ ’. Pain shot up his arm, burning white-hot on his skin, but Armin couldn’t move; he was just staring at his hand. 

And then all of a sudden Jean was steering him to the sink, running the tap and quickly filling the basin. Armin was in a trance, like it wasn’t really happening, like he was watching the whole scene unfold through a screen. The only thing grounding him in reality was the searing pain. 

“Hold it under the water,” Jean instructed and Armin submerged his hand. His skin felt like it was still burning. It was only getting more intense and against his will, his eyes filled with tears he tried in vain to blink back. Jean ran out of the room, presumably to go and find some bandages. Armin couldn’t reach the radio from the sink with his good hand so he took it out of the water to shut it off. 

Despite the pain, his body relaxed when the music was gone and he no longer felt like he was about to throw up, though his gut was still clenched uncomfortably tight. What the fuck was happening to him? Why did just that memory make him like this? 

His hand went back into the sink and the cold made the pain worse. This was awful. He’d snapped at Jean and Jean was going to think he was angry at him, but he wasn’t, he could _never_ be angry at Jean, but this was bad. This was bad and what if he didn’t come back? What if he wasn’t going to get bandages, and instead, he’d finally decided he had enough and he was done with him? 

 _Think, Armin_ , he told himself with an urgency that only made him panic. He _couldn’t_ think, not logically, not properly, all he could think about was Jean hating him and the pain of his hand and that night. God, that night. 

He couldn’t breathe properly again and that was making everything worse. _Why are you like this? Why do you ruin everything?_

_All you do is make him angry at you._

_It’s your fault. You deserve it._

“Armin?” Jean asked. “What’s going on? What _happened?”_

Armin just shook his head, unable to turn around and look at him. 

“Was it like last time?” He pressed, trying to get him to speak. 

Armin nodded. He was talking about that first time they met since he got back. When he completely freaked out. It was like that, sort of. Close enough.

“Let me see your hand,” Jean said, leaning over the sink. He was so close Armin felt sick. He couldn’t look at him at all. What the hell was he _doing_ \- not just now, but with everything. Why was he seeing Erwin tomorrow? Why was he trying to be a part of Jean’s life after he’d disappeared like that? Why was he even back here? 

He felt so stupid. He wasn’t smart at all. He could pass tests, or at least he could in high school, but none of that mattered, not really. This was the real world and he had no fucking idea what he was doing. 

“Can I touch you?” Jean asked softly. His voice was quiet yet it cut through Armin’s panic. His tone was laced with worry and concern.

Armin blinked. He wasn’t used to being _asked._  

“Yeah,” he finally said, after a long, drawn out pause. Jean wrapped his arms around his body, holding him silently, with no kind of expectation. Armin felt the world around him regain a bit of its colour. _Oh,_ he thought. His chest was swelling with an odd sensation. _Oh._

He remembered this feeling. It was one he’d buried long ago. 

They stood in the kitchen, Armin’s left hand still in the sink and his right hanging limply at his side as Jean held onto him. Neither of them said a word. The summer sun shone in through the window and illuminated all the disturbed dust swirling in the air. Slowly, painfully slowly, Armin let himself relax into Jean’s embrace, resting his head on his chest, and eventually bringing up his non-injured arm to hold onto him, too. He smelled like home and familiarity, yet the same excitement that Jean just always seemed to exude. It distracted Armin from how badly his hand hurt and broke him free of the vicious cycle of thoughts his mind had been spiralling down. What felt like an eternity passed before either of them spoke. 

“I’m sorry,” Armin whispered into the silent room, his voice muffled by Jean’s shirt. 

“What for?” Jean asked in return. Armin wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him speak so quietly. 

_For leaving this place without you._

_For not being able to write back or pick up the phone._

_For coming back at all... but especially for lying to you._

“Everything.”

“It’s all in the past, Armin.”

_It isn’t._

Armin held onto him a little tighter, then, selfishly, hating himself for doing it. He brought his other hand out of the sink and tried to hold him with both arms. 

“Ah,” Jean said, finally pulling back. He gave him a stern look. “Back in the water.”

Armin did as he was told and it finally felt like he could take a real breath. His heartbeat was finally starting to calm down a little, too. 

“Does it hurt?” Jean asked. 

Armin bit his lip and nodded. It burned like hell. “Mhm. But it’s not unbearable.”

“Do we need to go to the hospital?”

“No,” Armin said. He looked down at his hand; it was bright red all the way up to his wrist.  “No, I’m fine. It’s okay. It just hurts a bit.”

“Yeah, I fucking bet. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse, Ar.”

“I know,” Armin said, still staring down into the sink. “I know.”

* * *

 

Once Jean was satisfied that Armin’s hand was bandaged up and clean he refused to let him help with any more of the cleaning, instead telling him to relax while he did the last few things that needed to be done. Letting Armin argue with him wasn’t even an option. Instead Jean made him sit down and relax, making what Armin thought was way too big a deal over what was nothing worse than a second-degree burn. 

Armin couldn’t stop thinking about how gentle Jean had been with him. How soft his touch was as he bandaged his hand, how sweet he could be. And he knew Jean didn’t want anything in return, didn’t need his kindness to be repaid. Armin wasn’t used to that, either. 

He made food for them both and Armin picked at it, only eating half - not because it wasn’t good, but because he was so tense and on edge he could hardly stomach anything. Jean didn’t push him to have more, just told Armin to wait on the couch while he cleaned up. Armin turned on the TV and told himself he was going to pay attention to what was on the screen, but his mind started to wander straight away. 

“I’m staying over,” Jean told him when he came back into the room, wiping his hands on his jeans. 

Armin shot him a puzzled and slightly panicked look. “What? You don’t have to stay, it’s fine.”

“Nah.” Jean sat down on the couch beside Armin and stretched. “I’m not leaving you like this. It’s fine, I’m not busy anyway.”

“Like what? There’s nothing wrong with me,” Armin lied. He didn’t know why he was trying to convince Jean to leave when he desperately wanted him to stay. He still felt guilty about what happened with his hand. And now Jean was worried enough to want to stay. He couldn’t bear the thought that Jean actually _wanted_ to stay over. He just had to believe it was because he was worried, or his heart would go haywire. 

Jean gave him a look that said _yeah, right._

“Come on,” he said, shoving him a little playfully. “It’ll be fun. Like old times, right? Only this time your parents aren’t here to yell at us to shut up at two in the morning.”

“Alright,” Armin relented, peeking at him through his hair. He had no spine. “If you’re sure?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jean said. “Beats going home and seeing Reiner moping around about Ber- about stuff, you know.”

Armin did know. So Reiner wasn’t doing well about what happened, then. Armin didn’t blame him. It wasn’t like he was doing any better either. 

“You can take the guest room, then, if you want?”

“Hell no, let me sleep on your floor, I want that sleeping bag! You still have it, right?”

“I mean yeah, I do, but you were too big for it when you were _fifteen,_ I doubt you’ll even get your legs into it now.”

“It’s summer,” Jean rolled his eyes. “I don’t _need_ it to cover me completely. Not all of us are weird like you, and sleep with like forty blankets in the middle of June.”

Armin couldn’t believe Jean remembered that. “It feels wrong to sleep without a blanket, _you’re_ the weird one,” he teased back, smiling a little bit. Easier. It was getting easier again. 

 _How long is it going to last this time?_ A voice in his head asked, and Armin tried to ignore it. 

“It feels wrong to wake up boiling hot and drenched in sweat, but sure, keep your blankets,” Jean said. 

“I like the warm.”

“Weirdo.”

“You only just noticed?”

Jean snorted at that and leaned back, spreading his long limbs out on the couch. “Nah. But that’s why I like you.”

Armin had to fight his body to not outwardly react to that. “You’re not all that normal yourself,” he said, hoping he wasn’t bright red. 

“Just a pair of weirdos.”

A pair. Jean still thought of them as a pair? Did he mean it in that sense, or was he just using a phrase with no thought behind it? All Armin knew was that he liked it. 

* * *

 

When Jean was all set up on Armin’s floor, Armin got into bed. Jean was wearing a pair of Armin’s pyjama bottoms which only reached halfway down his calves; they were comically short on him. He’d foregone a shirt too, and Armin faced the wall so he wouldn’t be tempted to stare. Jean would notice and think it was creepy if he did. 

“Stop picking at your bandages,” Jean said. Armin heard him sit up and felt his eyes burning into the back of his head. He hadn’t even realised he’d been messing with the bandages but he had been. The skin was sore and irritated underneath. 

“It itches,” Armin pouted, still not rolling over. He stared at a little patch on the wall where the paint had chipped away revealing the plaster underneath. 

“It’ll get worse if you don’t leave it alone,” Jean said sternly.

“Sorry mom.”

Jean laughed, lying back down. “ _Someone_ has to mother you. And I’ve already got my hands full with Reiner, too, what a nightmare.”

“Is it hard being a single mom?” Armin teased.

“Who said I’m single?”

Armin felt a horrible, irrational fear grip his heart and he rolled over.

“You’re seeing someone?” He asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as scared as it did in his head. Jean had a girlfriend this whole time and he never said a word…? Why? 

Jean burst out into laughter. “No, I’m not,” he said. “God no. I’m just messing with you.”

The grip loosened but Armin still felt awful. His heart was racing; what a panic. What a horrible panic. 

“ _Have_ you seen anyone?” He asked, not sure if he really wanted to know.

“No,” Jean admitted quietly. He was staring up at the ceiling and in the low light Armin couldn’t read his expression. He followed his gaze and looked up. Still stuck up there were the old glow in the dark sticker stars that had been there for about two decades, still glowing after all this time. 

“Why not?” Armin asked. It made no sense to Armin. Jean had always been popular with girls at school. 

“Dunno,” Jean said. “Busy.”

That didn’t sit right with Armin and he couldn’t explain why. He didn’t like that feeling. Didn’t like knowing that there was something up but not being able to put his finger on exactly what it was. It was uncomfortable to him. And he couldn’t ask the questions he wanted to, because it would be weird for him to press on about Jean’s love life. He might accidentally give something away. 

“Speaking of Reiner,” Armin said, wanting to change the subject. “How is he?”

“We’re both pretending nothing happened. I’m pretty sure he knows we know but he’s embarrassed. Understandable, really.”

“Has he spoken to Annie or…?”

“Not that I know of.”

“That’s got to be horrible.”

“Tell me about it. It’s like it’s eating him up inside and he’s trying not to show it. I wish he’d just _talk_ to me about it but he’s being stubborn and I don’t know how to bring it up.”

“That’s not good,” Armin said, feeling useless. But there was some silver lining. Jean didn’t hate Reiner for being gay, or bi, or whatever he really was. He knew it was different, that they didn’t have the same relationship, but maybe if by some awful accident Jean found out about Armin’s secret, maybe he wouldn’t hate him either. 

“Yeah,” Jean sighed, stretching and shutting his eyes. “It’s really shitty.”

A little while passed in silence, Armin trying not to pick at his hand again, just staring upwards at the fake stars, recalling all the made-up constellations he’d created as a kid. 

It was nostalgic to have Jean’s presence lying down there on the floor beside him. Sometimes being around his best friend made him impossibly anxious, but during times like these, Armin felt at ease when he was there. It reassured him that not _everything_ had changed. Jean was different, of course he was. His hair was longer and he was taller and wider and his skin had totally cleared up. He was working, and he didn’t live across the street anymore, and he had new friends. 

But, Armin thought, as he slowly started to drift off to sleep, he was still _Jean._ He was still surprisingly caring. He still teased with the same tone and expression. He still stuck his tongue out when he was concentrating. He still smelled the same. And he still _cared._

He heard Jean say his name quietly, but he couldn’t even open his eyes, or make out the words that came after. He was too tired, and he gave in to the foggy haze of sleep. 

* * *

 Jean sat up a little from the floor and looked at Armin lying in his childhood bed. He couldn’t tell if he was sleeping, but he decided to risk it. 

“Armin,” he said softly. No response. “I’m really glad you came home.”


	10. Offer and Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I take it you’ve been reunited with Jean Kristein since you’ve been back. You two were inseparable if my memory serves," Erwin said.
> 
> Armin nodded, confused as to what this was about. “We were.”
> 
> “How is he?”
> 
> “He’s… good?” Armin told him. 
> 
> “Fully recovered, I take it?”
> 
> Armin blinked. What? 
> 
> Erwin must have seen his confusion, because he frowned. “From the accident.”
> 
> “What accident?” Armin’s voice sounded hollow. 
> 
> Erwin seemed surprised that he didn’t know. “He never told you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter contains mentions of alcohol.

The next morning, Armin woke up first, with a gasp. He’d already forgotten the details of his nightmare, but the sweat on his brow and his shaking hands told him all that he needed to know. Unease sat in the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he forgot that Jean was there. When he drearily opened his eyes to see the man sprawled out shirtless on his floor, he almost had a heart attack. 

It was early. Too early for Armin’s liking, really, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, so he got out of bed as quietly as he could, grabbing a change of clothes and a book. In the bathroom, while he waited for the tub to fill up, Armin stripped off and looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. He tucked his hair behind his ears and leaned in close, studying his own face. He looked weird, didn’t he? Too feminine. His eyes were a weird shape, and his nose was odd, and his jaw was too round. He looked like a child, not a twenty-two-year-old. The only thing giving away his real age was how  _ tired _ he looked. 

And his body was weird, too. All sharp angles and no muscle, too skinny. Armin could see his ribs and it made him feel like an alien. He poked at his stomach, looked at his arms. Traced his finger over his jutting collarbones. Jean was right. Maybe he wasn’t eating enough. 

Maybe Jean was trying to get him to eat more because he thought he was ugly like this. 

Armin shook his head. He couldn’t start thinking like that. Couldn’t start looking into it too much because if he did, he was sure he’d find all the evidence he needed to back up his conjecture. Deep down, he knew he was right, but like this, it was easier to ignore it.

Tearing his eyes away from the mirror, Armin looked at his hand. It hurt. He wanted to itch it, take off the bandages, see what it looked like underneath. He was still thinking about it when he stepped into the too-hot water, sinking down into the bathtub. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers over the bandages, tracing over the splash of the burn there. He was such an idiot. 

Armin submerged himself fully under the water and held his breath until his lungs were on fire and his body brought him back up for air. He had to pull himself together before Jean woke up and caught him being weird again. 

He dried off his other hand with the towel and grabbed his book, trying to get lost in the words while he calmed down. He took deep breaths, closed his eyes and focused on every letter of every word until it got easier to concentrate. He used to spend hours and hours reading books like this, living vicariously through the characters on the pages. Entertained by someone else’s adventure that he could pretend was his own, he’d dreamed of leaving this town and going on some epic journey himself.

What a disaster that had turned out to be. 

But he could still pretend like this, pretend he was anyone but him. So he did. And by the time he was interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door, the water had gone cold without him even realising. 

“You alright in there?” Jean called. Armin felt guilty that he sounded concerned. 

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Armin said back, closing his book and quickly grabbing the shampoo. He hadn’t even washed yet. “I’ll be quick. Lost track of time, sorry.”

“What’s new there?” Jean said through the door. “I’ll make breakfast.”

“You don’t have to-” Armin started, but he could already hear him heading down the stairs. 

* * *

 

“So,” Jean asked, once they were both sat at the table. “What does Mr Smith want to talk to you about?”

“I really… I don’t know,” Armin said. 

Jean watched Armin push the eggs on his plate around with his fork and wondered if he was going to actually eat them. 

“He didn’t say?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Nope,” Armin said. He was picking at his bandage again and Jean kicked him lightly under the table to get him to stop. “Ow. That hurt.”

“Stop touching your hand then,” Jean rolled his eyes. “That’ll hurt a hell of a lot less than if it gets infected.”

Armin pouted and picked his fork back up. 

For a little while, as Jean ate, they chatted about everything and nothing. Jean mentioned Connie and Sasha’s date. They talked about the weather and the quiz shows Armin liked to watch. Jean thought about how he always found himself watching those shows when they happened to be on, just because they reminded him of Armin. Armin briefly mentioned that Marlowe and Hitch got engaged, though Jean already knew that. He could tell Armin was nervous, but he pretended to be oblivious so he wouldn’t feel worse. And as they talked, the radio stayed off. 

The idea of leaving Armin alone again made Jean feel uneasy. In all honesty, he didn’t even care about coming across as clingy anymore - the thought of Armin being in this house on his own while he wasn’t doing well was worse. He tried not to let his eyes linger on Armin’s bandages. What  _ had _ all that been about yesterday? He’d been somewhat normal before that song came on, and then it was like he’d shifted into an entirely different person. Jean felt responsible for it. If he’d just listened and turned off the radio, Armin’s hand wouldn’t have gotten burnt. But he’d ignored his request and reached out to touch him. The way Armin flinched under his touch played on repeat in his mind. 

“Jean?” Armin asked, peering over the table at him. “You alright?”

“What? Oh, right, yeah, I’m all good,” Jean said, smiling reassuringly and shaking himself out of his own head. He was overthinking. God, he was turning into Armin, wasn’t he? Was this what it was like to be him? Jean didn’t like it at all. He wanted to go back to being sure of everything. That was much easier than all of this second-guessing.

“Alright,” Armin said, turning back to his food. “Good.”

Jean watched him for a second before leaning back and folding his arms. “Are you going to eat  _ any  _ of that?”

“I have been eating it!”

“Armin, you’ve had like two bites. Eat, for God's sake.”

“I told you before, I don’t get that hungry in the morning.”

“And I told  _ you  _ I don’t care, breakfast is important.”

“I know,” Armin mumbled back. 

“Good. Eat it then.”

They ate in silence for a while after that. Jean wondered if he’d gone too far again. He always did that, never knew when to stop. But at least Armin was eating. He could cope with being an asshole if it meant Armin was alright. 

Then, an idea came to him. 

“Hey,” he said. 

Armin looked up with a curious expression. “Yeah?”

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

Jean rolled his eyes and ignored that. “Do you, uh, do you want to drive down to our old spot?”

Armin blinked at him. “Seriously?”

“No, I’m joking,” Jean deadpanned.

“Don’t be an ass, Jean.”

“Sorry, don’t know how,” he grinned. “Seriously though, want to come?”

“How would we get there?”

“Reiner’s car.”

“Did you ask him already?”

“No, but he owes me one, so it should be alright.”

“Are you sure?”

Jean shrugged. “Should be fine, yeah.”

Armin paused for a moment then. It looked like he was thinking deeply, and Jean worried that he was trying to come up with some kind of excuse, but then a small smile crossed his lips. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, alright. That sounds good.”

Jean returned the smile, secretly overjoyed. “I’ll call you before I leave, okay?”

“Okay,” Armin said, and took another bite of his food. 

* * *

 

When Jean headed home, Armin waved him off from the front steps. As soon as he was out of sight, he folded in on himself. He couldn’t tell if it was worry or excitement rushing through him. Probably both. 

He paced around the house, making sure the AC was at the right temperature, fixing anything that looked weird or out of place. Everything had to be perfectly clean and tidy to make up for how much of a mess he was on the inside. Jean had done a great job with it all. That made Armin feel even worse. He didn’t deserve his friendship, not in the slightest. Like always, Jean gave and gave and gave and Armin did nothing but take. He had to change. Had to make it up to him. And the fact that Armin was  _ lying  _ to him made it all even worse. How was he supposed to deal with this? The guilt made him want to run away again, but he didn’t have anywhere to go. 

Armin shook his head, trying to snap himself out of it. He didn’t have time to freak out like this; Mr Smith was coming over. He had to appear normal.

Mr Smith arrived at exactly the time he said he would. Armin opened the door and awkwardly invited him in. 

“It’s good to see you, Armin,” the man smiled warmly, and Armin felt his nervousness ease a little. 

“You too, Mr Smith,” he said, stepping aside so he could come in. “Would you, uh, would you like a drink?”

“A cup of coffee, please, if you don’t mind,” Mr Smith said. “And I told you to call me Erwin, Armin. No need to be so formal.”

Armin tried not to grimace. He was already fucking this up, wasn’t he? 

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ll go and make that for you now.”

He led Erwin into the living room and hastily headed into the kitchen where the kettle already sat on the stove. He looked down at his hands, then balled them into fists so they would stop shaking. Whatever Erwin wanted to talk to him about, he had to stay calm. Everything would be fine, and then he’d go out with Jean tonight and it would all be fine. It was probably nothing, anyway. Nothing bad. It would be  _ fine.  _

The shrill whistle of the kettle snapped him out of it and Armin quickly made two cups of coffee. When he came back into the living room, Erwin was sat on the couch with his bag on the coffee table. It was strange to see his teacher in casual clothes, even after all this time. 

“Thank you,” Erwin said, once Armin was sat on the couch opposite him. “What happened to your hand?”

Armin tensed up. 

“Just an accident. The kettle was too heavy when I picked it up and it slipped out of my hand,” he lied. “But it’s fine, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Get it checked over if you can,” Erwin said. 

“It’s really not that bad at all,” Armin insisted. 

“If you say so.” Erwin picked up his cup and traced his finger around the rim. It looked like he was thinking. “How is it to be back?”

Armin kept his face clear of any emotion, but he was getting more anxious by the second. He wanted to know why Erwin was here, not make up some bullshit about his life for what felt like the thousandth time. 

“It’s great. I didn’t realise how much I’d miss it when I was gone.” Armin was lying through his teeth. “I loved college, but I’m glad to be home. How are things at school?”

Erwin was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher. Armin just prayed he wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“Things are better than ever,” Erwin said. “And I’m glad you had a good time. I remember how excited you were.”

So did Armin. That thought made him feel sick.

“It definitely lived up to my expectations,” Armin said. “But being back home is something I really missed, too.”

Erwin smiled then. The small talk lasted for a while longer, agonising as Armin tried his best to answer his questions, and politely ask his own. Erwin told him about various teachers that had come and gone, the new principal they had. Old memories were shared, Erwin talking about their old classes with a smile. Armin was impatient to find out what he wanted. 

Eventually, Erwin reached for his bag, pulling out a small folder. 

“Now I’ll get to the point,” he said. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about, as you know.”

Armin nodded. His stomach was in knots; this was it. He felt like he couldn’t move his face or his mask would melt off and he’d reveal what he was  _ actually  _ like. Erwin didn’t know about the new him yet. And if Armin could just keep this up for a bit longer, he wouldn’t have to. The anticipation was killing him. 

“And just to double-check,” Erwin said, leaning forwards. “You switched your major to education?”

Armin didn’t know why or how he knew that, or why it mattered, but he nodded. “Yes.”

“Perfect,” Erwin continued. He took a sip of his coffee. Armin did the same. “I have an offer for you.”

Armin blinked. An offer? 

He must have said that out loud, because Erwin chuckled and opened the folder. 

“That’s what I said, yes. It’s not a guarantee, because I don’t make the final decision,” Erwin went on, pulling out a small stack of paper and handing it to Armin. “But there is a position available at the school as a teaching assistant. I would like it very much if you considered applying.”

Armin was in shock.  _ What?  _ He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t  _ this.  _ He stared at the application form, his hands starting to shake. 

“Why?”

He didn’t even mean to say it; the question just slipped out. Armin cringed as soon as he heard himself speak. His voice sounded so insecure, like a child searching for any kind of validation.

But Erwin just shook his head and smiled a little, like he’d been expecting it. 

“Because I think you’re suitable and qualified,” Erwin said. Armin just looked at him blankly. “You have an appropriate degree. Not only that, but I think you have an infectious passion for learning. That would be an asset to some of my students.”

Armin felt tears threatening to prick at his eyes. Erwin had it wrong. He was remembering somebody different to who he was now. That boy was dead; Armin just wore his shell. 

“I... “ Armin started, and trailed off. He swallowed. “I wasn’t planning on staying for very long…”

“Oh,” Erwin said. Armin was surprised by the disappointment he heard in his voice. “Well, what  _ are  _ your plans, then?”

“I…” Armin began, then trailed off, embarrassed. Erwin had gotten him there - he didn’t  _ have  _ any plans. He didn’t have an excuse. There was no way to say no outright. How was he supposed to explain the truth?

“Look,” Erwin said. “I’m not going to force you into something you don’t want to do, but this is a very good opportunity. If you choose to apply, I will put in a good word for you.”

Armin didn’t understand. There was nothing special about him. Why was Erwin doing this? Was it out of pity?

Armin opened his mouth to protest, but Erwin cut him off. 

“You have until the end of July to make up your mind,” he said, taking a sheet of paper out of a small book from his bag and writing something down on it. “You don’t have to make a decision yet. Here’s my number. Give me a call when you make your mind up.”

Armin took the paper and stared at it for a second. “Thank you,” he said quietly. 

“Thank  _ you  _ for listening,” Erwin said, finishing off his coffee and standing up. “That’s all I had to say.”

Relieved, Armin stood up too, and made his way to lead Erwin out of the house. 

“Oh!” Erwin said once they were at the door. “One last thing.”

“Yes?” 

“I take it you’ve been reunited with Jean Kristein since you’ve been back. You two were inseparable if my memory serves.”

Armin nodded, confused as to what this was about. “We were.”

“How is he?”

“He’s… good?” Armin told him. 

“Fully recovered, I take it?”

Armin blinked. _ What?  _

Erwin must have seen his confusion, because he frowned. “From the accident.”

“What accident?” Armin’s voice sounded hollow. 

Erwin seemed surprised that he didn’t know. “He never told you?”

“No…?” 

“I apologise,” Erwin said, looking concerned. “I shouldn’t be gossiping like this. Please, forgive me.”

“No wait,” Armin said, his voice breaking. “Tell me what happened.”

Erwin frowned, but sighed and rubbed his temples, relenting.

“He was in a collision with a drunk driver on the highway, as far as I’m aware. It put him in the hospital for a few weeks. A close call. He was lucky.”

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. It all made sense. Jean’s weird discomfort while driving. The random pains he got; why he had to leave his last job. Why he ‘sold’ his car. He’d  _ lied _ . About all of it. 

“Again, I apologise. I assumed you already knew. That was wrong of me.”

“It’s… it’s fine,” Armin mumbled, shaking his head. He opened the door and could hardly breathe as he let Erwin out. 

Erwin looked awkward and regretful. He apologised again, and mentioned something about giving the application some thought, but Armin couldn’t hear him properly. The next few moments were a blur, and without even knowing if he’d said goodbye or not, shut the door and leaned back against it. 

Jean didn’t tell him. Jean hid it all from him. 

Armin felt something swelling in his chest that was unfamiliar. Anger. How could Jean have hidden that from him? Lied right to his face. 

_ You’re no better,  _ a voice in his head reminded him. 

“Shut up,” he hissed, putting his hands over his ears as he stumbled to the kitchen.  He was finding it hard to breathe again. 

Armin was opening cupboards, pulling things out and putting them back in to try and distract himself. Everything was neat, the way Jean had arranged it all.

An image of him in a hospital bed flashed through Armin’s mind and he dry heaved. He wanted to break everything. How had Jean hidden that from him? How had he never told, kept the fact that he’d nearly  _ died _ a secret? 

What a fucking joke. To think that they were  _ friends _ again. What the hell was he doing? Armin wanted to pack up and leave. It all felt so fake. How was he supposed to keep going like this, pretending that he could ever have things go back to normal, like he could be someone Jean trusted again? Like they could be friends again? 

They were both liars, keeping secrets from each other, and Armin hated it. He  _ hated  _ it. He wanted his best friend again. He wished he’d never left. He wished he’d never come back. He wished he was anyone but him, anywhere but  _ here. _

He took a glass out of the cabinet and threw it as hard as he could at the floor, hoping that it would release some of the awful tension that was bundled up in his chest. It smashed, bits of glass scattering everywhere, and Armin felt no better. Again, then. As many times as it took for him to not feel like this anymore. He went to get another glass out and something caught his eye - the bottle of wine Jean had brought over that first night. It wouldn’t be that bad, if he just had a bit, would it? Armin knew alcohol went straight to his head, but it was just  _ wine.  _ He’d be alright. He needed to take his mind off this. He needed to get these images out of his head. 

_ Imagine if he’d died, and you never got to say goodbye, because you were ignoring him.  _

“That wasn’t… I didn’t have a choice,” Armin mumbled, avoiding the broken glass on the floor as he went to get the corkscrew. “Had to protect myself.”

_ You could have done something.  _

“Shut up,” Armin said back. “Shut up.”

He was crying without even realising. In that moment, he hated everything. He hated Jean for lying to him. He hated Erwin for offering him this stupid job he’d never be able to do. He hated his parents for going off around the world. He hated this stupid, empty house. Most of all, he hated himself.

Armin managed to get the bottle open. He turned on the radio, half hoping to hear a song that would hurt him, and he sat down on the kitchen floor. Took a sip. He didn’t like wine. Didn’t like any kind of alcohol, really. 

But he kept drinking, forgetting that in a few hours, Jean was going to arrive. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are really appreciated :)


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